


One more time gotta start all over

by weepingnaiad



Series: Polaroid verse [1]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Awesome T'Challa (Marvel), Bobbi Morse is badass and beautiful, Clint Feels, Clint knows that Phil is alive, F/F, F/M, Fix-It, Gen, M/M, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Pre-Slash, Recovery, Sokovia Accords were about more than the Avengers, Team as Family, Wakanda's tech is better than Tony's, post-Agents of SHIELD Season 3, winterhawk - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-29
Updated: 2016-10-29
Packaged: 2018-08-27 16:29:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 36,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8408695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weepingnaiad/pseuds/weepingnaiad
Summary: Clint should have slept in, or listened to Laura, but no, he'd answered Steve's call. He’d ended up a fugitive, hiding out in Wakanda of all places. He’d ended up championing the handsome popsicle that is James Buchanan Barnes for reasons he doesn’t quite understand (and no Phil, you can shut up with that nonsense about not being able to walk away from a fight, and no, Nat, you can really shut up with that “you’re just a sucker for pretty eyes, Barton” schtick). Clint'd blame the lack of caffeine for his poor judgement, but even knowing what he knows, honestly?He'd do it all again.(Clint’s not saying he ever made much sense. He’s just saying that he’s honest. Particularly when he doesn’t have enough coffee.)





	

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Art for WeepingNaiad's one more time gotta start all over](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8368816) by [taibhrigh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/taibhrigh/pseuds/taibhrigh). 



> **Beta names:** [abigail89](http://archiveofourown.org/users/abigail89/pseuds/abigail89), [hitlikehammers](http://archiveofourown.org/users/hitlikehammers/pseuds/hitlikehammers), and [ryo](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Ryo/pseuds/Ryo). I couldn't have done this without them. Thank you so much!
> 
>  **Notes:** Takes place in a mashup of the MCU, comics, and Agents of SHIELD. The rating is mostly for language and some medical procedures that come very close to mental torture.
> 
> Many thanks to my artist, [taibhrigh](http://archiveofourown.org/users/taibhrigh/pseuds/taibhrigh) for all of the wonderful pieces. They really captured the story and I'm so thrilled. Please go to their page and give them all the love their work deserves!
> 
> I'd also like to thank the mods for once again running a fabulous Big Bang!

Clint ached in all the wrong places; his injuries from the fight on the tarmac having been gleefully added to by the assholes 'guarding' them. Guards? Yeah, right. More like utter assholes with huge chips on their shoulders that were little better than Hydra goons. At least Clint had kept their attention on _him._ Sam might be ex-military, but Scott wasn't. And Wanda? Well, Wanda was too silent. He'd gotten one glimpse of her condition, the way she was bound, shackled, and _muted._ That brief sight had made his blood boil and he got his ass soundly kicked for his anger. But, by god, the dead look in her eyes had made him want to tear Stark limb from limb.

Their jailers were dickbags, keeping the lights on 24/7, shuffling the meals (if you could call them that), beating the shit out of him, and basically violating every last article of the Geneva Convention. But then, Clint figured the Accords superseded humane treatment and went straight to indefinite detainment, accompanied by torture, all while stomping on due process. He snorted. _As if._ Kept the way his heart ached to himself, his face set in that coldly murderous glare he'd learned far too early.

He was pretty sure they'd been locked up for a week even though the lack of obvious changes in their environment kept him guessing. Intentionally, he was sure. But it'd been enough meals, enough beatings, enough visual inspections for a week to be a pretty close approximation. Problem was, he had no idea what Ross had planned for them. And he had no idea if it was a good thing that Steve hadn't been tossed in with them.

Sam had been quiet, muttering a short 'it'll be okay' to them all after Tony had left. Clint wasn't sure what that meant, but he held on to the hope that those words engendered. Hope was in short supply right now, so he held on as tight as he could all while keeping his outward demeanor one of pissed off Avenger. After all, none of the others had been captured, or they weren't here as far as he knew. And Phil and his team were out there, too. Surely they'd move heaven and earth to get them out?

He looked up at the ceiling, eyes glancing to one of the many cameras covering him before giving up and closing his eyes. He might as well sleep. He was due for another 'interrogation' from the guards soon and he needed to have his wits about him to get through it.

~~*~~

A shift in air pressure jerked Clint awake. His ribs still ached so it was too soon for another visit from his jailers. His empty food plate was still sitting by its slot so it wasn't time for a meal. Something was up, and Clint couldn't decide if this was worse than the nothing they'd already been subjected to.

He heard the heavy door to their cell block slide open and he moved to stand by the bars. He'd meet whatever head on. Just like always.

When Steve Rogers walked through the open door, Clint sagged in relief. _Fucking finally!_

"Cap!" he cried out, equal parts joyous and furious as hell. "'bout fucking time!" he scolded.

"Sorry," Steve said, stepping up to Clint's cell, his face bruised and eyes hollow. "I got here as quickly as I could."

If Steve was still sporting bruises, it had to have been bad. The door slid open and Clint waved him off even as a hundred questions tumbled around in his head. There'd be time for that. "Forget about me. Check on Wanda. They did something to her."

Clint staggered a couple of steps and sagged against the wall, heart and lungs hammering against his chest while he tried to take in what was going on.

A deep breath made his ribs protest, so at least a couple were cracked. His head throbbed and his back burned, so he didn't try to move, just stood there watching as Steve stalked throughout the holding area, fist slamming against every door release. Scott nodded his thanks and stepped out of his cell toward Clint, face marred with nothing but worry. Clint tried to grin, but his split lip tugged and Scott swore, "Shit!"

"They fucked you over, man. You shouldn't have done that," Scott said, eyes darting away guiltily.

"Don't," Clint hissed, voice raw. "We're safe now. That's all that matters." He turned his gaze back to Steve. Instead of continuing to Wanda's cell, Steve stopped in his tracks, eyes sweeping Sam, obviously cataloguing the cuts and bruises.

Sam finally spoke up. "Did Tony help?" he asked, voice soft and uncertain.

"Later." Steve's jaw clenched tight and he shook his head. One hand lifted, gently turning Sam's face, the motion careful and intimate. "This happen here?" he asked, voice rough with anger. Clint thought he should look away, but couldn't. He wondered what he was witnessing. Especially after he'd been certain that Steve Rogers was in love with Bucky Barnes.

Sam covered Steve's hand with his own, their eyes locked. "On the way. The goon squad wasn't exactly gentle," he said. "Barton over there kept the dickwads here focused on him."

Steve's eyes shot to Clint. Before Steve said anything, Clint interrupted. "Wanda?" he reminded. They needed to get going while Clint was still able to stand.

"Right," Steve acknowledged, turning away from Sam who he nudged toward Clint. "Move out. I've got her." 

Clint pushed away from the wall, but couldn't turn away. He had to know how Wanda was. He could tell when Steve saw what they'd done to Wanda. His hands curled into fists at his side and his jaw turned impossibly harder. He lifted her up. She wasn't moving.

"Is she?" he choked out, but Steve barely spared him a glance. He had Wanda cradled in his arms and was striding toward the door, eyes steely.

"Steve?" Clint asked again.

Steve turned back to him. "I don't know, but we have to move." He began walking again. "Now!" he barked over his shoulder.

Clint leapt to follow, swearing as pain lit his side. But he moved out the door, gasping out, "May?" when he saw the woman who had apparently helped Steve.

"Barton," she acknowledged in her typical deadpan. 

Despite everything, Clint grinned. He'd missed May. "Is Coulson--"

"Later!" Steve snapped.

More SHIELD agents joined them as they began their escape through the bowels of the Raft. Clint was pretty sure he recognized some of them: Mack (who could forget him?), Hunter, and--

"Bobbi?"

"C'mon, Barton, you heard the man. Move now. Talk later," she said, but she offered him a smile and a shoulder. "You can walk can't you?"

"Give me a gun and I can do more than walk." It was bravado and Bobbi knew it, but Clint was going to help take these fuckers down.

Hunter handed one of his extras to Clint, explaining, "They're not live rounds. They're stun guns."

"But unlike any you've used before."

"Is this that stupidly named weapon? The night-night gun?" He frowned. "Dammit!" he cursed, but he checked the weight. It was well balanced. He shrugged.

Bobbi bit her lips but nodded. She was trying not to laugh.

"Quiet!" May hissed, waving behind her for them to stop. She touched her ear and frowned, nodding before glancing at them. "Daisy's barely keeping ahead of the systems. We have to move. Faster."

"What about Wanda?" And there was Scott finally asking what they were all thinking.

"We have someone on board who'll help. We just have to get there."

May started barking orders, codes for their extraction and the SHIELD agents moved to follow; the party's speed increasing from careful to an almost breakneck run by the time they burst through to the hangar deck.

Coulson was standing on the ramp, gun in his left hand, right pressed to his ear. He was speaking, but it was too soft for Clint to be able to make out as they darted past. He stopped once he was fully onboard, gun still raised, watching the sightlines, checking for automated weaponry when the engines spun up and the whole hangar began to rumble.

Coulson called out, "Hold it! Hold it!" and the whole place seemed to pause, take a breath for an instant before Clint saw a young woman running toward them. The ramp began lifting as she dove for Coulson's hand to tug her in and then they were off.

Only once they were fully in the air and had been for long enough to confirm there was no pursuit did Clint finally lower his weapon and promptly sag to the deck.

Awareness returned slowly, but along with consciousness came a myriad of aches and a groan-inducing headache. "Fuck!" he hissed, eyes slitted as a spoon was pressed to his lips. He opened dutifully, well acquainted with this routine.

The sight of Coulson holding a styrofoam cup and white spoon all while frowning at him with that fond yet furiously exasperated expression made Clint grin. "Ow! Fuck!"

"That's what you get for being an idiot," Coulson replied, voice a soothing balm against Clint's thundering head.

Instead of answering, because what could he say, he wouldn't change a thing, he just opened his mouth for more ice chips.

"Fine. But you're confined to this bed until the doctors clear you. And I mean it. No escaping early for any reason."

"But, boss--" Clint whined, voice still gravelly despite the soothing ice.

"No buts. You have a concussion, two cracked ribs, and a shit ton of bruises and swelling on your left side."

"'course. That's where that one asshat kept kicking me."

"Clint--"

"Hey, no," Clint cut him off. "You know what those kind of guys are like. What they're capable of." Coulson nodded, eyes dark. "So. I could take it. No one else… especially not Wanda--"

He jerked up, or tried to, but the sharp pains shooting down from his head and radiating from his sides and back just left him groaning and whimpering, gasping for breath. "Fuck!" he muttered again as Coulson pressed his palm to his shoulder to keep him down.

"Wanda will be fine," Coulson said as though he could read Clint's mind. He couldn't, at least Clint didn't think he could, but he knew Clint well enough to know what he was thinking. "Jemma's checked her out and that collar doesn't seem to have done any physical damage."

"You know that's never the worst of it," Clint gritted out, eyes still closed against the pain.

"That's why Daisy's with her."

"Good," he said, voice gone rusty. "And the others?" he managed to croak out.

Phil offered more ice chips while filling Clint in. "Sam is with Captain Rogers, daring anyone to question either of them," he said. "A foolish move, but one I completely support. And Scott is safe at home with his family." Phil set aside the cup and met Clint's eyes, his gaze apologetic. "It was easy enough to send an agent to check on the family and let them know what had happened. That is all well documented, signed off on by the Director."

Clint got it. Phil had Scott hiding in plain sight. Or as plain as an ant-sized man ever was. "So he still a fugitive too?"

Phil nodded, clearly unhappy about the turn of events. But it wasn't his fault and Clint wanted to reassure him, to say something to make it better, but they were interrupted by a nurse. He didn't recognize her, he would have remembered someone with her bearing and such glowing dark skin. She was beautiful, but he wasn't going to be distracted. When she approached his IV, he reached out to stop her, ignoring the pain as he did. "No pain killers," he growled.

Phil stood up and pulled his hand back. "Clint."

She met his eyes and lifted each syringe as she described their contents. "This is a steroid and antibiotic as well as an anti-inflammatory." Staring him down, she injected the first two into the port. "The doctor indicated that the painkiller was not optional and you, young man, need the relief."

"Young man?" he blurted out, turning to Phil for support, but Phil just held Clint's arms down, forcing him to lie still.

"I have underwear older than you," she said, smile wide and toothy.

"I don't believe you. You're just teasing the guy with a head injury. I'm on to you." He had to squint, but he caught her name. "M'yra."

"Hmmm?" she hummed at him.

"You remind me of Anna Lebedeva," he said. "She was our trapeze artist. Tiny little thing, and sweet as anything."

She chuckled quietly as she patted his hand. "As flattering as that is, sweetie, I have my orders." Her expression turned serious and Clint's eyes widened. "You wouldn't want me to get in trouble for not taking proper care of my patient, would you?"

Clint swallowed and shook his head, gritted his teeth as he nodded for her to proceed. She injected the last syringe into the port. "There. All done. Now get some sleep."

Clint had the feeling he'd been had, but the cool liquid newly coursing through his veins blunted the worst of the pain and stole any fight he might have tried to put up.

She gave him a gentle smile and shook her head, recording his vitals before she left.

"Oh, she's good," he muttered. "Definitely, reminds me of Anna. Tiny. But _fierce_." The meds must have kicked in because Clint was starting to get floaty, the world turning cottony soft.

Phil rolled his eyes. "What you did was dangerous," he chided as he straightened up Clint's blankets and fluffed his pillows.

Clint blinked open his eyes, the eyelids suddenly far too heavy, to see Coulson staring at him, a soft, bemused expression on his face. It made Clint smile too. "But I'm _your_ idiot, boss," he slurred. Words were suddenly hard.

"Sleep, Clint," Coulson said, the hand carding through Clint's hair helping him do just that.

~~*~~

Clint woke more easily this time, the grogginess dissipating quickly and the pain in his head almost gone. The pain from his ribs was muted until he shifted, making something along his back throb in time with his heartbeat and he groaned, aloud, if Phil's presence was any indication.

"Careful," he muttered. "You're still pretty banged up."

Clint blinked and sagged back into his pillows, three, just like he liked them. The worried frown Phil was directing at him made him wince. Only one cure for that. "Sit rep, Sir."

"Shouldn't that be my line?"

"Nah. I was locked up, out of touch for awhile, and now I've been out for longer. What the hell's been going on?"

"Clint--"

Clint waved a hand in the air, cutting Phil off. "See? That right there is why you gotta fill me in. I don't like being kept in the dark. And, besides, either my head's banged up worse than I remember or your friends here have me on something stronger than I'm used to," he explained. "Still fuzzy as hell."

Clint sucked on the straw that Phil held out, the cool water helping to clear his mind a bit, but sending a shiver down his spine. "Start with telling me where the fuck we are."

Phil blinked. Clint would congratulate himself on taking Phil by surprise. But, c'mon. Phil knew how many times he'd ended up in SHIELD medical.

"This ain't SHIELD, boss. I _know_ the medbays of every SHIELD office from the helicarrier to the Triskelion. Where are we?"

"Wakanda," Phil answered with a frown. "You have to understand--"

"What the fuck?" burst out, Clint's eyes wide and disbelieving even as he gaped like a floundering fish. _No fucking way!_ "Is this some 'out of the frying pan, into the fire' proverbial bullshit?" he finally managed to ask.

"No. King T'Challa has been very helpful. We owe him a great deal."

"What's wrong with the medbay in your super secret SHIELD base?" Clint asked, the pieces still not fitting together in any coherent picture. At least talking to Phil would take Clint's mind off his growing nausea.

The little puff of breath Phil exhaled before starting to speak alarmed Clint. Phil _never_ sighed. He was pragmatic, always prepared for the worst, and twelve steps ahead of everyone so he was never merely _resigned_ to their fate. It'd always been one of the possible outcomes he'd already formulated.

"I am no longer the director of SHIELD," Phil said.

"What?"

"Secretary Ross recommended that I resign--"

"Fuck!" Clint hissed, fury lighting his spine.

Phil pressed a palm to Clint's shoulder to keep him down. The touch grounded Clint.

"The president took Ross's 'suggestion' to heart, claims that I was better in the field, so I am still, technically, a SHIELD employee," he said, voice soothing Clint's frayed nerves. "I just took a short leave of absence to get out of the way of the new director."

"Who the fuck did Ross handpick? What lackey is about to torch all you've rebuilt?" Clint swallowed bile. Fucking Ross.

The corner of Phil's lips quirked up and his thumb brushed Clint's cheek. "Talbot."

"What?"

"It could be worse," Phil said, shrugging. "He's uptight, narrow-minded and unimaginative, but he is an honest man, Clint."

"Honesty doesn't help when you're a rule-following stooge," Clint growled.

"It's fine. We're all fine."

"I don't understand, boss. The president owed SHIELD, owed _us_ and yet he dumped you. For what? A scapegoat?"

"You understood that the Accords were never just about the Avengers, didn't you?" Phil asked instead of answering.

"Kind of figured that was the way it would go down. Cap said the whole thing stunk worse than a Brooklyn dumpster in a heat wave, but what does that have to do with SHIELD? With _you?_ "

"Ross ordered Talbot to round up all the Inhumans, Clint," Phil said, face lined with pain.

"Fuck! He wanted Daisy? And Yo-Yo? Joey?" With each nod, Clint grew angrier. Cap had been spot on. Even if it wasn't intended to be, the Accords were going to be used as justification for the rounding up and internment of enhanced people. The Raft alone should have signaled Ross's subterfuge in huge fucking neon, but targeting SHIELD agents and taking out their protection? Just proved that Ross had an agenda, a very dangerous agenda.

"How could Stark have been so blinded?" Clint asked.

Phil shrugged. "I had hoped that Mister Stark was playing the long game, that he was working with Ross merely to gain entry into his confidence."

"But?"

"But he remains untouched and, more importantly, free. As do his compatriots."

"While the rest of us are fugitives and no closer to knowing what game Ross is playing," Clint finished, tone bitter. A memory crept in, darted in between his ribs like a well-aimed dagger. "Wait, what?"

"Tony is free--"

"No, the rest," Clint prompted, then talked over anything Phil tried to say. "Holy shit, Phil! Tony outed me at the Raft!" He stabbed at the button to lower the head of his bed.

"Whoa," Phil said, taking the control and tugging Clint's hand back. "Outed you?"

Clint hissed. "That bastard basically told Ross about Laura and the kids! We gotta get to 'em before Ross does!" Clint cried out, heart rate rabbiting as panic flooded him. What the hell was he doing in fucking Wakanda when his family was in danger?

"Clint."

He tried to get out of Phil's hold, despite the sudden flush roaring along his skin.

"Clint."

But Phil was doing a pretty damn good impression of restraints.

"Clint!"

Clint jerked his head up, lungs gasping for breath as sweat broke out on his forehead.

"Laura and the kids are fine," Phil said, words deliberate when Clint met his eyes. "Natasha phoned, gave me a heads up. I moved them to a safehouse, the one outside Calgary, before you entered German airspace. They're _safe_."

"Shit!" Clint sagged back into the bed, his heart still thundering in his chest and his breathing labored, which only made everything worse. Each breath was a knife to his chest. And now the panic was ramping up because not only couldn't he breathe, but his back was on fire.

"Fuck!" Phil muttered, stabbing at the call button as Clint's vision went hazy. "Get a doctor in here now!" he shouted.

"Clint! Dammit, Clint, breathe."

He wanted to say he was trying but the world was getting dark and his head was spinning and his lips weren't working, and gratefully, everything went black.

~~*~~

Heavy eyelids, scraped raw throat, and sluggish limbs combined with the incessant beeping surrounding Clint told him he'd probably just gotten out of surgery of some kind.

Even before he tried to do more than blink his eyelids, he felt that familiar plastic spoon nudge his lips. More ice chips.

"Goddammit, Clint," Phil muttered somewhere over him on his right.

"I know you can hear me," he continued. "And let me give it to you straight. They had to go in. Internal bleeding along with extensive damage to your left kidney. They have the best surgeons here so you're lucky. But you aren't going anywhere anytime soon. We almost lost you."

"Phil," Clint whispered, eyes still refusing to cooperate.

"Sleep, Clint. I've got you," Phil murmured or at least Clint's pretty sure that's what he said. Still, he couldn't resist the warm palm stroking through his hair, and all noises and awareness faded away.

~~*~~

Either Clint was having incredibly vivid dreams or he was drugged to the gills. Maybe both. He couldn't actually tell, but the furred and scaly visitors interspersed with his friends led him to the conclusion that he must be hallucinating.

At least Clint hoped that he was seeing things. Otherwise, Steve was frowning at him, giving him Captain America's disappointed face. And then there were tears and apologies... Cap's. Which, what the _hell_? When Clint tried to turn away from that devastating blue gaze, his eyes lit on Sam who was perched at the end of Clint's bed wearing a full set of feathers. Thank goodness it was a dream because Clint was pretty sure that he pointed out how beautiful Sam's feathers were out loud.

When the Big Guy showed up wearing an Aerosmith t-shirt and throwing sunflowers around Clint's room without any collateral damage, Clint smiled and just embraced the crazy parade.

~~*~~

But the fun and games had to end. When Clint finally awoke for good, he was back in the first room, limbs loose and head not exactly clear, but far less fuzzy. And there were no oddities hovering over his bed. He turned, meeting Wanda's dark eyes. "Hey, jazz hands," he managed, voice a raspy whisper.

"Hey, Pops," she greeted, corner of her lip turned up, the tight lines around her eyes softening. She held out the ubiquitous spoon and Clint opened his mouth dutifully.

After working their way through enough ice chips to numb Clint's tongue, he had finally worked up the nerve to ask, slurring just a bit, "How long have I been out? Musta been awhile if you got babysitting duties."

Wanda shook her head. "Idiot," she said with a relieved huff. "You've been out of it for nearly five days now. It was… not good there for awhile."

"How not good?"

She took a deep breath and bit her lip. "Guess you had some internal injuries they didn't catch. They weren't sure if they were going to be able to get ahead of the infection that was causing everything to start shutting down."

"Oh," he said. _Well shit._

"Yeah," she echoed, her throat tight. "So please do not give me trouble about being here. I needed to be."

"Okay. Okay. But I feel pretty good. Better than before." It wasn't phrased as a question, but it was totally a question.

"The doctors here are very good," she said, as if that explained everything.

Clint had been in hospitals far too many times in his life. He knew how this shit went down. But maybe Wanda didn't know the details or didn't want to share. Either way, he could let it slide. Maybe he could pump her for info later, when his lips could form words more easily. She'd probably be an easier mark than Phil.

"So… Coulson told me we're in Wakanda?"

Wanda nodded.

"And he said you'd been chatting with Daisy?"

Her cheeks turned a bit pink at the mention of that name, her pupils widening slightly. "Yes. She is… she has been through much herself."

"That it?"

Wanda cocked her head and met Clint's gaze. "What else would there be?"

"C'mon, soul sister, give me more than that. I was fucking worried, alright?"

She blinked for a moment, then her hand reached for him. She curled cool fingers around his arm above the IV. "I am fine. I was unharmed at the Raft."

"Physically," he griped.

"Do not think that I do not know what you did for me. What you saved me from," she said. "I hate that you felt you had to, but I am grateful. And I am coping as well as I can. You are familiar with the saying 'one day at a time'?" she asked, her tone a smooth monotone, though he felt the splinters underneath. And sure, he knew she knew about his issues, about his past; it's part of the reason he so desperately needed to protect her. "Daisy is a good listener," she added when he said nothing.

 _Good,_ he thought. That idea made the knot of worry in his gut loosen, just a tiny bit.

"Hey," she said, nudging him. "You awake?"

He must have drifted off, lost in his own thoughts. He looked at her with heavy eyes. "Yeah. No? Maybe not one hundred percent," he admitted. So much for pumping her for intel.

She chuckled, reached out to card long fingers through his hair. "Then sleep, Clint. We all need you to get better and get out of here."

"Nah, think I like all the attention."

It was a lie, but it made her chuckle and he counted that as a win. He drifted off under her careful touch.

Clint was restless. Bored. Sick of just lying around. And fucking _done_ with being coddled, poked, and prodded. To make it all worse, he still didn't really know what was going on out there, what exactly had happened. It all added up to make him punchy.

"'bout time, boss!" he snapped when Coulson finally showed back up days (eons) later. "You here to spring me?"

Phil was as nonplussed as ever. "You're in no condition to be 'sprung', Clint. But I do have the authorization to take you on a walk." He grinned, well, on him it was a grin, but it was just a small quirk of his lips as he pointed at the wheelchair against the wall. "I mean, a ride."

"Oh, hell, no!" Clint held up a hand, then pointed toward the wheelchair. "I can walk just fine!"

"That may be," Phil said, though it was clear he thought Clint was an idiot and was waiting on him to just try it. "But you aren't cleared to be up and about. This was a compromise."

"Why?" he asked, now suspicious.

"Because you are making a nuisance of yourself and I am the only one--"

"Besides Natasha," Clint had to butt in.

"Besides Natasha," Phil echoed, conceding, "who can deal with a cranky Hawkeye. And, as you can see, Natasha is unavailable."

"Wanda was doing fine!" He thought it was better to leave any mention of Natasha off the table.

Phil just gave him that look. The one that said _you're a dumbass, a selfish dumbass, do better_ and Clint caved, folded like wet toilet paper. "Fine. I was being an asshat," he admitted. "Can we go now?"

"Of course." 

With that, Phil wheeled the chair to the side of the bed and they got him settled in, IV hanging behind him on the attached pole.

"Any idea how much longer I'm gonna be tethered to this bag?" he asked.

"You'll have to ask your doctor."

Clint folded his arms over his chest. He wasn't pouting. It was cold when your clothes didn't have a back.

"Quit acting like a baby," Phil chided, though there was no heat to it. He tucked a blanket around Clint's legs then gave him a look that made Clint feel guilty. "You are lucky to be alive."

Clint glanced up at Phil as they began walking the wide corridors. "Like you?" He was an ass. Always had been.

Phil sighed. "You know the methods used to revive me are no longer an option. We _talked_ about this," he shook his head and kept walking. "So quit getting yourself nearly killed," he added, soft and low.

"Sorry, boss," Clint apologized.

"So what's going on out there? We going to be fugitives for-fuckin’-ever? Am I gonna miss seeing my kids grow up?"

"Daisy's working on a secure communication channel so that you can talk to the kids and Laura. I barely kept her from coming here."

"Isn't it safe here?"

"It's not that simple. Wakanda is fighting to extradite Zemo, get physical custody--"

"Get him away from Ross?"

"Exactly."

"But their interest is generating heat. And I don't want to bring any more International scrutiny than we absolutely have to."

"Then why bring me here? Or Daisy? Wanda?"

Phil was silent for too long, it made Clint ache. Things were so fucked up when even Phil Coulson was uncertain.

"I didn't have a lot of choice, Clint. Didn't dare go to anyone in any country that signed the Accords. That didn't leave a lot of options. Mostly rogue states."

"Too dangerous," Clint got that. Phil didn't have to explain. He felt responsible for his team, for anyone that had ever relied on him, trusted him. Which explained Clint's current predicament.

"This is fucked up, sir." 

Phil snorted. "You could say that," he said, but he kept talking, got Clint up to speed, or at least as far as he knew.

The Raft had been terrible, but Clint was torn on whether or not he was glad he missed going to Siberia. The thought made his skin crawl and his eyes kept sweeping the corridor, darting from window to window until something in the room they'd just passed caught his attention.

"Wait! Hold up, Coulson!" Clint shouted, lifting a hand and dropping one foot to try to stand.

Phil stopped, pressing down Clint's shoulder. "Do not get up," he scolded, hand firm and steady. "You'll rip out your IV and then we'll all be in a world of hurt."

Clint looked up at Phil and he looked shattered. It might have been a trick of the light or the angle or maybe Clint had just been too lost in his own head, but Phil Coulson, unflappable, cool as a cucumber Agent Coulson, looked like he'd just come off of a week long bender. "Shit, sir. You look like hell."

"You need to look in a mirror, Clint."

"Fuck you." As retorts go it was weak, but Clint's brain was still muddy from the meds. That was his excuse anyway. The reality was that he was pretty rusty trading barbs with Phil. Before all this things had still been awkward between them; Clint's guilt not helping that situation one bit. "Roll me back a bit," he ordered.

"What?"

"You heard me. What room is that?" he asked, pointing over his shoulder.

Despite the slight huff of breath, Phil moved them back and through the glass was exactly what Clint thought he'd glimpsed. Bucky Barnes. _Frozen._

"What the fucking fuck is going on, sir? Please tell me that is _not_ Bucky Barnes, former brainwashed Russian assassin that I fought my goddamned best friend to save?"

"It is not Bucky Barnes."

"Har-har." 

"That is Sergeant Barnes." Clint about jumped out of his skin at the softly accented voice behind him, hand going to his chest; the wrong one of course. He hadn't heard the king approach and now what was he supposed to do? How do you kneel from a wheelchair? Was he supposed to kneel?

"Your Majesty," Phil said smoothly, head ducking in a tasteful show of deference without overdoing it. And he managed to get Clint the right way round while doing it. Fucking show off.

"Please. We have known each other long enough that we can dispense with the formalities, Director Coulson."

Phil held out his hand with that wry smile on his face. "As you say, sir, but only if you call me Phil. I am no longer the director."

T'Challa took the outstretched hand, lips curling into a small smile. "Which is a shame." 

"Wait, what?" Clint was not going to claim to be at his best right now. "Hold on a sec," he protested.

"Forgive me, Agent Barton. We have not been properly introduced. I am King T'Challa. Welcome to Wakanda."

The king of Wakanda, the fucking Black Panther, the protector of the insular nation was standing there wearing tailored slacks and a suit jacket over a v-neck sweater that had to be cashmere. With his hand out to _him,_ Hawkeye, the guy he'd taken down pretty damn easily on that tarmac in Germany.

Phil tapped Clint's shoulder and he reached out to grip the king's hand. "Um, hey. Yeah. Clint Barton. Hawkeye. Avenger?" He didn't mean to sound so uncertain but he really didn't know. Was he an Avenger now?

"Maybe just make that a guy who's good with a bow." He reached up and rubbed his neck. "Don't think I'm allowed to be an Avenger anymore."

The king cocked his head at Clint, was studying him with a solemn expression. Clint wasn't sure if he was being judged or pitied. It made his insides squirm.

The moment was broken when T'Challa glanced at Phil, his eyes were less intense when he looked back at Clint. "You asked about Sergeant Barnes's current status. He was quite adamant that this was for the best."

"But…" Clint felt betrayed and angry. "My family is in hiding because we did the right thing and we got what? Jack shit?" Why the hell had anyone risked their lives if this was going to be the result?

"Clint," Phil cautioned, but Clint didn't care.

"I don't get it, your Highness. What the hell happened to make this an option and why the fuck did Cap allow it?"

"This was Sergeant Barnes' choice. He insisted that he was a danger to everyone as long as he could be triggered. He requested to go back under. But only until such time as we could figure out how to remove the programming." T'Challa was so reasonable, but how could he be reasonable about something that was so fucking wrong?

"Well, how the hell can you figure out how to remove the programming without a subject to work on?" he asked, practically growling. Phil squeezed his shoulder _hard._ And no, this wasn't about Clint relating to Bucky; what Clint went through was _nothing_ like what Bucky endured. So sue him, maybe it was denial, but he just had some empathy, okay? Besides, he'd worked damned hard to save Bucky's life. Given up so much, for this?

T'Challa answered in that same soothing, too calm voice. "We have to start somewhere, preferably with how he was programmed in the first place, Agent Barton. SHIELD provided us with all of the available Hydra files concerning Sergeant Barnes." 

Clint knew he meant that _Phil_ had given them those files. And he'd bet even money that SHIELD's new director had no idea those files were missing. Or that they even existed.

T'Challa paused, eyes narrowing slightly as he took a breath. "What was done to him was devastatingly cruel. We hope that such brutality is not a fundamental requirement."

"Shit," Clint hissed, stomach twisting. At least Loki'd been quick about it.

"It is not an ideal situation, but I must stress that it _was_ the Sergeant's choice." He glanced at the window and Clint was struck by how graceful he was, how fucking _regal._ Clint had met a lot of the movers and shakers of the world, most of them were assholes, by the way, and none of them could hold a candle to the quiet strength and dignity of Wakanda's new king. "Who were we to deny him?" he asked, looking straight at Clint, seemingly straight _into_ Clint.

"Oh, sure, be _reasonable_ ," he replied, flippant and loose, anything to get T'Challa to stop looking at him with that assessing gaze. Clint's issues were far too close to the surface right now and he didn't want them sussed out.

T'Challa ducked his head, a tiny smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "I am grateful you approve, Agent Barton."

"The Hawkeye seal of approval is a thing," he said, leaning his head back to look at Phil. "Ain't it, boss?"

Phil lifted his hand to his mouth and coughed, but Clint knew he'd covered a laugh and he counted it as a win. _Way to go, Barton._

"I should get this ruffian back to his room. We have taken enough of your time," Phil said instead of answering Clint. "Thank you," Phil said, and even if he didn't actually say it Clint heard the 'your Majesty' on the end.

"Thanks for putting us up, and you know, saving my life," Clint said instead, hoping to avoid awkward titles. "But I'd watch your back."

T'Challa's eyebrows shot up.

"That nurse of yours? M'yra? She's wily. You don't watch her, she'll be running the whole kingdom." Clint winked.

T'Challa did not laugh, but Clint swore he would have if it wasn't undignified. "You are quite welcome, but it is no hardship. We, Wakanda, owe Phil a debt. Offering a few apartments in our medical complex is barely recompense."

With a slight duck of his head, T'Challa walked away, but Phil didn't start walking again.

When Clint looked up at Phil, his gaze was focused through the window. He looked troubled and it was against Clint's code for that to remain.

"Mush, driver!" he barked out. "Growing moss here."

"Ass," Phil muttered, but they started moving, turning down a couple of other corridors until they wheeled through a set of double doors that slid open with a swift swish of air as they approached.

"Hey, like Star Trek!"

Phil snorted. "You know about motion detectors, Clint."

"Yeah, but those doors usually sound clunky. This is cool." He glanced around again just to be sure. "And no visible sensors."

The gardens were lush, so much foliage that it could seem overgrown or wild, but instead Clint felt like he was wandering on grounds that were well-cared for without requiring every plant to conform to some unnatural geometric shape.

Phil didn't say a word, but Clint swore he could _hear_ the tension fleeing Phil's spine as they walked deeper into the well-tended jungle, the air heavy and warm but without weight.

"Thanks, boss."

"For?"

"For saving me. Again."

"It's only fair, Clint. You've saved my life more times than I can count."

"If I don't think about it, this could almost be like a retreat."

"You hated those things. Tried to boycott every single one. I swear you even gave yourself food poisoning before that retreat in the desert."

"It was in the _desert._ Who the fuck schedules a team building retreat in the fucking desert?"

Phil grinned. Clint could hear it in his voice. "Maria Hill."

"She's a sadist. Fucking deserves to be working for Stark."

Clint felt the air shift behind him. When he looked up, glanced at Phil, he hated the expression gracing his face. He was so goddamned sad.

"Hey, now. Don't do that. None of this is your fault. Or hers. And now that Stark knows we were right…"

Phil shook his head. "It isn't that easy, Clint. Maria," he stopped, frowned, then shook it off. "Maria is where she's supposed to be. Far away from SHIELD, from Cap, from anything that bears any resemblance to her former life."

"Doesn't mean you don't miss your friend," Clint said, morose. And yeah, so maybe he was thinking of himself and the parallels. "This sucks _balls,_ " he huffed. "And not in a good way."

"I have to agree."

"Okay so is there anything we can talk about that isn't fucking depressing? What about the Cubbies?"

"Don't ask."

"Dammit."

They were silent for awhile after that, Clint trying his damnedest to not wonder what Nat was up to, if she was alright. And what about Cap? He had worked so hard, given up so fucking much and yet he still lost his friend. What the hell was it about this life that it stole everything that mattered? He swallowed. "Hey, Phil?"

"Hmmmm?"

"I never got to say--"

"Clint, you don't have to--"

"Stop. Let me say it." Clint swallowed, and Phil went silent with a short nod. "I'm sorry. About my part with Loki." Phil opened his mouth to protest but shut it when Clint glared at him. "I know it's not my fault. I know it up here." He tapped his temple. "But that ain't the same as knowing it in here." He pressed his palm to his chest. Then he let out a breath. "I've mostly forgiven myself. Well, up here." He tapped his temple again. "But, if Bucky isn't a victim, then what in the hell am I?"

Phil's eyes went wide.

"Nat told me about the Winter Soldier and the paperwork confirmed: a couple of dozen assassinations. Sure, they were big deals, but hell, Phil, I took out that many on the helicarrier alone. Doesn't that make _me_ the monster?"

Phil shook his head, then knelt in front of Clint, intertwining their fingers. "You are one of the best of us. Not just because you're an Avenger, but even before I convinced you to come in."

Clint snorted. "You shot me!"

"It was a calculated graze," Phil said, the retort comforting with its well-worn cadences. "I want to say that the carving, the compulsion left by my serum gave me some insight into what you went through, but that would be presumptive of me."

"That shit was freaky, sir."

"And just think, you only witnessed me carving a few symbols on a restaurant table."

Clint swallowed. "Sounds similarly sucky."

Phil nodded. "Clint, trauma is trauma. Comparing yours versus Bucky's. Or mine." He paused, frowned. "That doesn't help. It just leads to undeserved guilt."

Clint sighed, but nodded. His therapist had told him that. So many times. "How the fuck could Tony try to kill Barnes? He didn't do shit on the level that I did."

Phil's lips thinned, a sure sign he was unhappy. "I think Mister Stark was in no frame of mind to be legally signing the Accords, let alone operating the suit."

"He was compromised?" Clint wanted to slap himself. Becoming brothers-in-brainwashing wasn't something you wished on your worst enemy. Well, he kind of did wish it on Loki. It'd serve the little shit right.

Phil shook his head. "Not like you. Or Barnes. But I don't think anyone would claim that Tony Stark was fully stable at that point." He continued, "He'd been dwelling on the last conversation he'd had with his parents, he lost Pepper, Vision was a success, but Ultron was… not. I think his reaction was just that, a reaction, all feeling without thought. I am not condoning, or forgiving, but it is, at least, _understandable_."

"Oh, sure. Straight up murder the guy who had already been so badly victimized." Clint's voice was hard and heavy with sarcasm. "Way to go, Stark."

"Clint."

"Drop it, Coulson. I know that Stark'll leave me alone if I crawl back home and stay under the radar. He doesn't really care what I did or why. But that's not right. He opened the bottle. _He_ let the genie out. Ross ain't gonna stop. I'm not going to endanger Laura and the kids and I'm not abandoning Barnes. Cap didn't abandon me. At least I can return the favor."

Phil stood, the frown easing into a small smile. "I figured you'd say that."

"What? I'm so predictable?"

"No." Phil unlocked the chair's brakes and gripped the handles before turning Clint around and heading back to the hospital. "You're a hero, Clint. I told you."

"Yeah, whatever. You're biased. I know you can't help crushing on me. I look damned good in backless gowns."

Phil coughed and Clint smirked because he knew Phil was just covering another laugh.

"Hey, Phil, when we get back to the room, can I call the fam?"

"I'll check with Daisy."

"Thanks, Phil. For everything."

"Don't be so quick with the gratitude. I can't stay. Neither can Melinda. So Bobbi's going to be in charge."

Clint groaned, put his face in his hands and shook his head. "Noooooo," he whimpered.

He really was fucked. He loved Bobbi, he _did,_ but she's his ex for a fucking reason.

"Clint!"

He stiffened, then sagged back down against the wall. "Hey, Birdie!"

"Don't call me that." Bobbi glared at him. "What are you doing here? Again."

Clint shrugged. "Guarding the perimeter."

"We're in the middle of a hospital in the middle of Wakanda, Clint. I think Barnes is safe."

"You say that now, but you and I both know that anything can happen at anytime."

"Clint," Bobbi started and there was that old exasperation. Man, Clint was good at getting under Bobbi's skin. It only took three days!

She took a deep breath and shook her head at him before holding out a hand. "C'mon, cut me some slack, Barton. Phil will murder me if I let anything happen to you."

"PT _is_ something happening to me!" he argued, but gripped her hand and let her pull him up. "Something _bad._ Have you seen Zuni? She's evil incarnate. She and M'yra get together, they'd take over the world. Keep them away from Nat, eh?"

Bobbi rolled her eyes and pulled Clint's arm into the crook of hers, grip firm. He was not getting away.

~~*~~

After being caught in Barnes' room by Bobbi too many times, Clint took to sneaking in at night, when the hospital was quiet and the lighting low. Barnes' room was lit only by the bright green of one monitor tracing a slow, steady rhythm which turned hypnotic when Clint unfocused his eyes and just listened. Clint was pretty sure it wasn't Barnes' heartbeat. If it was his brain waves then did that wavering line mean that Barnes was dreaming?

What did a brainwashed and tortured assassin from the ‘40s dream about?

And if he was dreaming, could he hear Clint? Like they say coma patients can?

Clint didn't know and he sure wasn't going to ask the doctors or technicians who checked on Barnes frequently. Whatever he thought, he began to talk. Mostly it was just mindless chatter, words to keep himself awake when the nightmares or loneliness ate at the insides of his eyelids, made his gut ache. But he found himself slipping on occasion, usually when his dreams had shaded neon blue and the world ran red.

He held his tongue as long as he could, but the silence made his eyes fixate on a target: Barnes, with his long lashes, sharp cheekbones, and strong jawline, including that stupid dimple in his chin. He looked peaceful, but Clint knew it was an illusion. The guy had been through hell and still hadn't come out the other side. Something Clint related to far too much. And that loosened his tongue, made the words come easy and fluid.

He told Barnes about Barney and their tumultuous history. Those tales led to Laura and Clint's awe for his late brother's wife. How incredibly strong and resilient she was in the face of heartbreak and isolation. Of course, talking about Laura led to him telling Barnes about adopting Barney's kids, about the fear of turning out like his father, but he couldn't _not._ He owed Barney, especially when he died trying to protect Clint. And Laura. Well, Laura deserved all the good things in the world. She'd been there for Barney, done right by him, even when right had been turning his ass in and having him hauled back into jail for violating parole. But that'd set Barney's feet on the right path, almost like Laura knew it was the kick in the ass he needed.

Clint had never met anyone quite like Laura. Somehow, she still had a sense of humor, though it was dry like Phil's. And, yeah, those two had gotten along like a house on fire. When he had clued Natasha in about the fam, after New York, after Phil was gone, part of him worried that he was asking too much of Laura. But she took it all in stride: the aliens, Clint's part in the attack, losing a good friend. She opened the screen door and hugged Natasha. Clint still got a lump in his throat remembering that moment. He'd never call Natasha out for the too bright eyes, for the way she clung to Laura, but they'd all toasted Phil with wet cheeks. Then got blindingly drunk while sharing stories about him.

Clint knew that Phil was alive, had known for long enough that the sting of it was gone. He knew Phil'd been through hell to be brought back, but sometimes the feeling of loss was still stronger than his return; the memory of Phil greeting them at the farm was tinged with a fuzzy filter, too dream-like to be real. Laura's cryptic message had been impossible to ignore, the reveal still mind boggling. And then there was SHIELD, bare-boned and staffed by so few, but it was as resilient as Phil's belief in its ideals. And Clint had been bowled over by the youngsters. Especially Skye, uh, Daisy. She was all heart, another kindred spirit, another duckling imprinted on the badass with a big heart: Phil Coulson.

Clint laughed through the tears he swiped off his cheeks. This life fucking took everything. He only had to glance up at Barnes to see the devastating toll. And maybe Clint was lying to himself thinking he was watching over Barnes' for _Barnes,_ or even for Cap. Maybe his motivations were purely self-serving, but there was something about Barnes' story that just made every atom in Clint's body tense and rage. He might be selfish, but James Buchanan Barnes deserved better.

~~*~~

"Clint, what are you doing here?" Bobbi asked, nearly the minute she walked into the room.

"Hey to you, too," Clint said, wiggling his fingers at her and smiling as though there was nothing to see here. "I am offering myself as a guinea pig, but, apparently, that job's taken."

"You can't keep doing this to yourself."

"Doing what?" Clint asked, trying to act as innocent as possible in the face of Bobbi's disappointed face.

"Offering yourself up as reparation."

"Bobbi," he whined. "'m not."

"The hell you're not," she said, her mouth drawing into a straight line. "You're being a self-sacrificing idiot," she added, crossing her arms over her chest. "What would Phil say? Doesn't he have enough to worry about?"

Oh, that was dirty pool, but Clint wasn't going to give in. "What are you doing here, Babs?"

"Don't call me that."

"Shouldn't you be helping Phil? I bet he needs all hands on deck to keep Talbot from destroying everything," Clint urged, trying to figure out why she was stuck on babysitting duty.

Bobbi looked away. He watched her throat bob.

"I'm not SHIELD, Clint. Not anymore," she said, voice low and raspy. "We got burned. It was us or everyone else. So Lance and I--"

"Holy shit, Bobbi!" Clint interrupted. "I'm sorry! I didn't know."

With suspiciously bright eyes as she met his gaze, she shrugged. "It doesn't matter. Feels like I haven't gone too far."

"Look at the bright side. You got me!"

"And you claim that's a positive?" she asked as she tried to pull him out of the room, but was stopped by a smooth voice.

"Ma'am?"

"Yeah?" she asked as she turned to the speaker, her hand still gripping Clint's arm.

"Agent Barton was quite correct."

"What do you mean?" Bobbi dragged him back with her and now she was frowning. Clint hated to make her frown, but he'd volunteered and he wasn't reneging on that for anything.

"We have developed a… _procedure._ " the doctor tried to explain. He'd given it the ole college try explaining to Clint, but Clint's schtick was more physics. He didn't really do neuroscience.

"And?" Now she sounded suspicious and, oh shit, her eyes were murderous as she looked at Clint.

The doctor just shrugged. "Agent Barton volunteered as a test subject."

"For an experimental what exactly?" Bobbi's grip tightened making Clint wince.

The doctor flinched at her tone, but he didn't back down. "We believe we understand the device and mechanism used to imprint Sergeant Barnes."

"And you want to try it on Clint?"

"He did volunteer and we have verified that the barbaric cruelty employed by Hydra was completely unnecessary." Poor N'lix. He didn't get that he was talking to Barbara Ann Morse in one of her moods. It would be easier to convince a brick wall to run a marathon, in Clint's experience.

"So you've got a cure for Barnes, then?" she asked, her voice going low, and, seriously, Clint was ready to run. The doc should be, too.

"Um, not exactly," he answered. Clint sighed. This was not going to end well.

The fingers digging into his bicep tightened painfully. "So you intend to imprint Clint without being able to remove the commands?" She enunciated each word sharply.

"We have a theory--" he began.

"No!" she cut N'lix off.

"Bobbi," Clint tried.

She whirled around, her grip squeezing until Clint swore he'd have bruises. "You shut up." Clint's jaw clacked shut.

She advanced on the doctor, dragging Clint with her. "And _you._ "

"But, ma'am--"

"You get back to work and don't even _think_ about suggesting that you brainwash anyone! That's not just unethical, it's stupid science!"

"If you think you could do better--"

Clint just rolled his eyes. Seriously. This guy must have a death wish.

Bobbi leaned in, voice low and tight. "I'm quite certain I could. I know better than to experiment on subjects with nothing more than a _hunch_."

"I'll have you know I have a doctorate from--"

"Yeah, whatever. Blah-blah-blah. I have a doctorate in biology from Georgia Tech. Doesn't mean I'm going start human experimentation," she snapped, shutting him up.

"Excuse me, may I perhaps help?" came the voice of reason from the door.

Clint's arm might yet be saved. "I futzing hope so, your Highness!" 

The doctor was bowing. "Your Majesty."

And Bobbi was still furious. Clint swallowed. He could see how this was going to play out and it was _not good._ He wrenched his arm out of Bobbi's grip and stepped between them.

"Clint, get out of the way."

"Nope, uh-uh, no can do. You need to chill," he said, hand raised as though that would stop Bobbi from going around, through or over him. He was trying to keep an eye on everyone in the room, but especially Bobbi and the king.

"I am fine!" she snapped, then the next thing Clint knew Bobbi had shoved by him, snagging him in an arm lock, her grip as tight as manacles. "Your Highness, forgive my temper, but I just learned that Clint volunteered for an incredibly risky and untried experiment. As a biologist, and as his friend, I cannot, in good conscience let that happen."

"No, of course not. You are quite right," he nodded, again sounding incredibly calm and reasonable. "Did I overhear that you are a trained biologist?"

"You did." Bobbi's hold loosened enough for Clint to extract himself. He scrambled away and shot the big-mouthed doctor a heated glare.

"Then may I ask a favor?" T'Challa continued in his smooth voice.

"Of course. We owe you. I will do whatever I can," Bobbi agreed easily. No wonder that man was king. He had an amazing ability to make people see his side without arguing.

"Will you help my scientists?" he asked.

"With the procedure?"

"With figuring out a way to bring the good sergeant out of his self-imposed exile. I promised him that we would find a way to free him from the shackles Hydra bound him with, but this is, admittedly, not our area of expertise." He waved at the lab, at all the tech that put SHIELD's to shame. "We could use your help." There was no way that Bobbi was refusing T'Challa's request. Hell, _Clint_ was ready to sign up and he didn't know biology from botany.

"Yes. Yes, of course. Anything I can do." Bobbi answered, sincere and sounding almost flattered.

Clint grinned, waved his hand in the air. "And I'm still the guinea pig."

When everybody turned to glare at him, he shrugged. "I wanna help."

"Stay out of our hair and out of trouble," Bobbi said, rolling up her sleeves.

"That's what I was trying to do!" he protested, but Bobbi was bent over a holographic table, the doctor and the king already explaining what they'd done so far.

Clint sighed, shoulders slumping. He stepped over to Barnes' cryo tube and tapped the glass. "At least you can be assured you've got the best minds available to work on you. Only other one I can think of is over at SHIELD. But maybe Bobbi can figure out how to enlist Jemma's help, too."

After studying Barnes' sleeping face for probably long enough to be hella creepy, Clint headed out. But he didn't go back to his tiny bunk. The damn thing had no windows and was underground. Made Clint claustrophobic. Instead he opted for a walk in the grounds. Surely the fragrant air would soothe his unease?

And where the hell was Natasha?

"Hey, beautiful," Clint greeted when Laura's image appeared on the screen.

"Clint!" she said, smiling at him, then her eyes narrowed. "Is that a black eye? Did you break your nose? Again?"

He rolled his eyes. He needed to get some less perceptive friends. "I'm fine. Just challenged the king to a sparring match and got my ass--"

"Clint!" she hissed, turning away from the screen before pressing a glare his way. 

"Sorry! Sorry!" he apologized. "Um, the king won," he finished, voice weak and slightly embarrassed.

Laura snorted. "As if that was a surprise. Isn't he like super powered?"

"How do you--"

Laura held up a finger, stopping Clint mid-sentence. When she moved away, only to have Natasha take her place, Clint swore, low and as inaudible as he could make it.

"I filled her in."

"Natasha."

"It's good to see you. I was worried."

Clint gritted his jaw.

"I'm sorry I couldn't come, Clint. I hope you understand."

"No, I don't fuckin' _understand!_ " he hissed, voice low and straining tight as he leaned forward. "You sided with Stark!" When Natasha looked like she might say something to defend herself he shook his head. "Not just him, but General Thaddeus Fucking Ross!" That right there still _stung._ "What the hell? What the fuck would Bruce think?"

That was a calculated blow and he caught a slight wince and a tightening of her jaw, but continued on, anger, fear, and frustration fueling his words. "I don't get it." He frowned. "Make it make sense to me."

Natasha's face fell as Clint ranted, her mask cracking wide as she leaned in close. "Clint? Please? I'm sorry. I thought we could get ahead of this thing and make it work for us. For all of us."

Clint snorted. "Yeah, guess you _miscalculated_."

She ducked her head and Clint had a moment of remorse for his words. In the end, she'd done the right thing. Helped Cap get to his objective. Probably saved Barnes' life in the process.

When she looked up, her mask had been carefully reconstructed and Clint could see why people might mistake Natasha's tight control over her emotions for having none to start with. But Clint could see the sorrow, read the regret, the toll this had taken on her. She might have gotten off easiest of all of them, but the wounds went deep. Especially because those wounds were heavily salted with guilt.

"I never meant for anyone to get hurt." She paused, obviously choosing her words carefully. "I want to fix this."

Clint couldn't meet her eyes, his own guilt for dragging Wanda in weighed heavily on his heart. He shook his head. "Don't know if it can be fixed," he muttered, voice thick.

"Clint?" she asked, voice small.

He tried to hold onto the anger, onto the frustration, the impotence that had been swirling around him for these past three months, but, really, he was no more angry at Natasha than he was at himself. And he was so relieved to see her healthy and whole, even if the shadows in her eyes were deeper than ever. His emotions refused to cooperate and his shoulders sagged.

"I'm still pissed," he said. 

"As you should be," she answered, the shadows fleeing just a bit.

"You should check in with Coulson. He could use the help," he said, offering an olive branch. By her expression, it must have been a bad one. "What?"

"Coulson's pretty pissed at me right now. Said that I better work some goddamned miracle before showing back up on his doorstep."

"Oh."

Natasha lifted one shoulder in a small shrug, the corner of her lip quirking up. "We nearly lost you," she said. "That's on me."

"That's on fuckin' Ross. Not you." His voice was rough and his eyes were lit with hellfire. "And if I ever see Stark again--"

"Whoa. Stark didn't know--"

"He sure as hell knew after he visited us! He outed Laura and the kids and then he just left us there. Fucking blamed _me_ for it, too!"

"Stark is pretty messed up," Natasha tried to soothe him, but Clint wasn't going to be soothed. Not about this. "You heard about Rhodey?"

"Sure. That's on Stark, too. He ordered Vision to take out Sam's wings, Tash! And Sam didn't have a suit to protect him. What the ever lovin' fuck is wrong with that man? He even dragged some _kid_ into it." He shook his head, crossed his arms over his chest and said quite simply, "No. Just no. Stark fucked us all over and he's still sitting pretty out there while we're fugitives."

Clint was breathing heavily with emotion, the fury overtaking him.

"Clint, I will fix this. I promise."

He knew she couldn't. This had spiraled out of their control even before Germany. Probably all some long game Ross had been playing for years. Instead of voicing his doubts, he changed the subject. "How long are you staying with the fam?"

"A couple of days. Steve's making himself a very visible target and he needs someone to watch out for him."

"Even if it's from the shadows?"

"Especially then."

Clint growled. "This is all so futzed up, Tash!"

"It is, bratishka, but we have to work with what we have."

"Can I at least join you there?" he asked, very carefully not begging even though he knew the answer before she shook her head.

Laura's face joined Natasha in the screen. "It's not safe for you, Clint," she said, soft and earnest. "We're doing fine here. The kids start school in a couple of days. You'd be bored here." She smiled, but it was fake. "The condo's brand new. Nothing needs fixin'."

He huffed out a breath, crossed his arms over his chest and slumped back in his chair.

"Clint," Laura's voice was insistent.

"Yeah, yeah. I heard you."

"Clint, sit up and talk to the kids," she ordered and he did. Of course he did. No woman who could put up with Barney was going to take shit from Clint.

But Clint had to admit everything felt better when Lila's face swam into view. If he cried quietly after an hour of constant happy chatter, there was no one in his desolate bunk to see.

~~*~~

Despite being confined to the medical center and its park-like environs, Clint wandered as far as he could get away with. He didn't want to crap on T'Challa's hospitality, but he was going more than a little stir crazy. He'd tried the roof at all hours, but inevitably had to hide and sneak out when some couple having an illicit tryst showed up, or, worse, when the nursing staff came up for a stitch and bitch session. The gossip made his head spin.

Clint enjoyed gossip as much as any SHIELD agent, which was a ridiculous amount for what was supposed to be a super- _secret_ agency. But he didn't know anyone being discussed and what was the point? None of it had anything to do with national security or helping him get a leg up on one of Wu's ubiquitous pools.

Luckily, he found the gardener's shed, and the still hidden behind it. He traded booze for brawn. Jiru spoke with the same softly accented English as everyone else. And when he asked why, Jiru only grinned. "You think me uneducated and illiterate because I choose to work the earth?"

Clint held up his hands and shook his head frantically. "No! Nope. It's not that, man. It's just… well, why bother to learn English if you never leave Wakanda?"

The man's eyes twinkled. "And who said I never leave?"

Clint blinked. "Um, I thought-- Weren't the borders closed for the last century?"

He laughed and Clint felt like a fool. "Just because we did not accept visitors did not mean we remained ignorant and untravelled. Any who had interest were allowed, actually encouraged, to study abroad." He added, "I studied at Oxford."

"Well how about that?" Clint mused aloud. "Once again _I'm_ the idiot abroad, stepping in it with both feet."

Jiru chuckled and refilled Clint's cup. "You're no idiot, Clint. Nor does having an Oxford degree make me less of one. Many a well-educated man has proved to be exceedingly provincial and bigoted. You are neither of those."

"I'm better with my hands than my head," Clint conceded, completely ignoring the implicit compliment in Jiru words. "And now I feel stupid because I've insulted you."

"Being ill-informed is not the same as stupid," Jiru said. "And if I took offense at every opportunity, I'd get nothing done for having my back up."

"Thanks for being generous with the ex-carnie, then."

Jiru laughed. "So there is more to you than archery?"

"Not much more. I was good with the hooved animals. But the furry ones hated me. I could never get through a feeding without one of them scratching me."

They laughed together. "I shall not ask you to feed any of the stray panthers then."

"Panthers?"

"Have no fear. If you have the king's blessing to be here, they will not pay you any mind."

"Oh, uh, good," Clint sighed, muscles loosening. "I'll hold you to that."

"You do that," he said. "Now, surely you did more than shoot things and feed the animals?"

"I can juggle and spent a lot of time on the high wire and the trapeze," he said. "Never good enough to work without a net, though." He added, with a rueful laugh, "Oh! And I was awesome at the sideshow games. I knew all the tricks, could win every time." Realizing what he was saying, his voice grew quiet. "Was great at reeling in the marks."

Jiru patted his leg. "You are too hard on yourself. You did what you had to. Even someone raised here can lose their way." He indicated the little shed, eyes growing distant.

"Who?" Clint asked in a hushed whisper.

"My son," Jiru blinked, then cocked his head to gaze at Clint. "Let us say that he took the long way around, but still ended up quite successful. Just like you."

"I don't--"

"Clint," Jiru said, the rumble of Clint's name too compelling to duck. "You are a hero. Nothing forces you to risk your life. You choose to do so when most would not even try."

Clint blinked. Jiru made him nostalgic, reminded him of Fury and Coulson when Clint first came to SHIELD. They tried so hard to convince Clint he was more than what he'd become.

"Thanks," Clint hesitated. "I think I needed to hear that. It's been awhile."

"Since someone believed in you?"

"Yeah."

"I doubt that. I think there are many people who very much believe in you. Life sometimes gets in the way."

"I wouldn't have gotten my GED if it wasn't for Phil!" Clint blurted out.

"Phil did not do the work or take the tests for you."

"No."

"We all need encouragement and support, Clint. And sometimes we forget how to accept it or even how to recognize it for what it is."

"Maybe?"

Jiru smiled. "I like you, Clint. You remind me of Zakar. He could never sit still without getting into trouble."

"Phil always said that nothing ever good came of letting me get bored."

"Idle hands are the devil's playground," Jiru said, voice sounding serious until he winked at Clint. "I have work to keep you occupied here," he continued. "But do not get yourself caught."

Taking the hint, Clint grinned and raised his empty cup. "Can I have a glass for the road?"

"The 'road' is a well-lit garden path, Clint, but, yes, you can have another. As long as you do not rat me out."

With his cup topped off and a solemn face, Clint crossed his heart and stood, shaking Jiru's hand. "I swear on Betsy."

"Who is Betsy?"

"My bow."

"Ah. That is right. Of course Hawkeye, the one who uses a bow and arrows, would name his bow." Jiru grinned and gave him a loose salute. "Go now, before they come looking for you."

Clint allowed himself to be shooed out of the garden shed. He turned down the path, humming quietly, careful not to spill a single drop as he meandered and the lights came on. Without thought, his steps veered away from the residential section and back into the medical halls; finding himself standing before the window of Bucky's room. Prison? Tomb?

The lights were low; all the doctors and technicians and even Bobbi had gone for the day, so Clint crept into the room and stepped up to Bucky's cryo tube. "Cheers." He tapped the glass with his cup and downed the rest of the contents. "This sucks," he muttered, glaring at the face under the glass.

"Why'd you do it, Barnes? I mean, I get it. Sort of. No one should have to go through what you did and fucking remember it. The best thing they could do for you is to help you forgot being tall, dark and frosty. But you gotta be awake for them to figure that shit out." 

He sighed, backed away from the tube until his back hit the wall. "I don't know, man. I just thought you were a hero. Brave. Watching Cap's six even without the serum. Coulson used to talk about you. Told me all he knew." With his head spinning and his muscles aching -- he might have overdone the work and he definitely over did the moonshine -- he sank down to give his weary body a rest; his eyes never leaving Barnes' face. "I even fucking watched all the stupid movies they made about you. I mean, they were supposedly about Cap, but no one knew how to play Cap so the star was usually _you._ "

Clint snorted, shook his head. "You'd be horrified, I bet. But seriously? Were you really that much of a ladies' man? They always made you out to be some James Bond and Casanova mash-up."

Tilting his head back, he lowered his lids but still stared up at Barnes. "I bet it was all a cover. The way Steve looks at you… he's in love with you, isn't he?" A lump formed in Clint's throat. "I've never had anyone look at me that way. And no one has ever fought the world to save me." His voice went small. He frowned. "Dammit," he hissed. He didn't want to start down that path. He'd lost enough time in a pity party after Loki.

Forcing himself to think of something else, his eyes found Barnes' lips. They were slightly blue, but still so perfectly shaped, the soft bow still vivid against his pale skin. His thoughts turned somersaults in his head, made no sense. Their rescue stood out. He swore Steve loved Bucky as more than brothers, but how did you explain Sam? How Steve's eyes had gone soft and then worried when he looked at the bruise on Sam's face? Maybe there was more to Bucky going back on ice than the understandable fear of hurting anyone else. Maybe he was running from a reality he never bargained for?

Whatever the reason, none of it made sense to Clint. Talking to Barnes when he couldn't respond hadn't offered any answers, only left Clint pondering his own mistakes and missteps.

Drawing his knees up to his chest, he wrapped his arms around his legs, pressing his forehead to his knees; the dim lights and subtle beeps and whirs fading into the background as he drifted. Alone. Again.

~~*~~

"Clint?" a voice in his ear made him start and he jerked awake, arms and legs flailing.

"Shit!"

Clint blinked gummy eyes to see Bobbi's face too close to his own. "What the hell? Back off, Birdie, you look like a cyclops!"

Bobbi pulled away and spikes of light speared straight into Clint's eyes making his head explode with pain. He swore and ducked down.

"You reek, Clint? What the hell?"

Bobbi's words sent shards of pain through his head. He tried to shake it, but that only made things worse.

"Get up, dammit. You can't keep doing this!" She was tugging on his arm, dragging him upright. And in the process the world decided to tilt crookedly. He whimpered.

"Where the hell did you get the booze?" she hissed as she frogmarched Clint out of Bucky's room and down the hall.

Clint didn't bother trying to speak. He just let Bobbi's angry words wash over him as he stumbled along, barely able to stay upright.

Bobbi wasn't completely heartless, even if she often sounded like it. She dropped Clint on his bed without turning the lights on, huffing as she tugged off his shoes. "Drunk? And dirty? What were you doing today? Rolling through the grass?"

Clint roused enough to struggle when she reached for his fly, but she batted his hands away. "Stop it! You'll sleep better without these on. Besides, they're dirty. No sense messing up your sheets, too. And it's not like you've got anything I haven't seen."

He couldn't fault her for that logic. Then allowed himself to drift away as she covered him up and left with a soft thump as the door closed.

Contrary to popular belief Clint did learn from his mistakes. Jiru's bootleg was pretty powerful stuff and Clint needed to treat it with respect if he wanted to keep Bobbi's disappointed face at bay. And he did. _So_ much. Clint hated to disappoint anyone, especially those he loved.

Once recovered and able to get away from Bobbi's piercing gaze, Clint helped Jiru in the gardens and took his payment in liquid form, but he didn't drink himself into a stupor. Not _every_ night anyway. And he was careful to avoid Bucky's room. Something about that place messed with his sense of time and his emotions; left him adrift and asea in a morass he'd sworn he'd dealt with and put behind him.

He thought he had everything under control until he was once again sitting with his back to the wall, knees to his chest and eyes fixed on Barnes' sleeping -- frozen? -- face, Clint's teeth aching from the way his jaw was clenched tight.

"Clint?"

Closing his eyes, he sighed. "Girlie-girl, what are you doing here?"

A warm hand closed around his wrist. "Bobbi was worried."

"I thought you had been relocated?"

"I never left Wakanda," Wanda said. Clint could hear the smile in her voice. "Daisy, uh, Agent Johnson and myself as well as the other… um 'enhanced' moved into a place isolated from the main populace."

"So out of one cell and into another?"

"Clint, look at me," she said, but she was asking, not ordering.

Clint's eyes felt red-rimmed and crusty as he met soft brown ones. Maybe he had been overdoing the moonshine? "Yeah?"

She placed a soft palm on his cheek. "You should leave here. This place," she waved with her other hand, "is not good for you. It is no good for anyone."

Clint didn't miss her eyes flicking up to Barnes' face.

Clint snorted. "No shit."

"You should not stay and torture yourself."

Clint frowned. "That's not what--"

Wanda interrupted him with a gentle smile, her head tilted. "Hawkeye. You can lie to anyone you choose, but do not lie to yourself."

Her _or me_ went unsaid, but Clint got the message loud and clear. "I'm not, Wanda. I've got to do something and I'm here to help."

"Help with what?"

"With figuring out how to fix Barnes."

"Oh," she said, the single syllable laced with an entire conversation's weight of guilt.

"It's just… I've been there. Seems like I'm the only one that can help. You know?" he shrugged, awkward.

She sighed. "I think you should still take a break. You need some fresh air," she said, eyes sad, "and a shower."

Clint chuckled. "Do I reek?"

She nodded. "Immensely."

"Fine. I'll come visit your freak-show commune. I'll fit right in."

"But shower first?"

He laughed and allowed himself to be tugged up, slinging an arm over Wanda's shoulder as they strolled down the corridors. He even kept himself from glancing backward at Barnes as he left.

That was growth, right?

~~*~~

The 'house' was actually a cluster of small bungalows around a central courtyard with a burbling fountain. They were in a valley near the border, closer to sea level with a cool breeze coming down from the mountains. The windows were open and Clint could hear voices, indistinct conversations highlighted by a tuneless humming. Before he could knock on the first door, the second one opened.

"Clint!" Wanda greeted, smile wide as she waved him forward.

"Girlie-girl!" he said, then lifted the bottle and smiled. "I brought liquid refreshment."

She snorted, ducking her head with a smile. "Come in then."

"Hey!" Daisy greeted from the sofa before glancing back down at the laptop perched on her bent legs.

"Daisy. Good to see you again."

"You too, Hawkguy," she mumbled, clearly distracted.

"Wow!" Clint said. "What smells so good?"

Joey appeared in a doorway to Clint's left. "That'd be dinner."

"Oh, hey, man."

"Hey."

"What's cooking?" Clint asked as Wanda tugged the bottle out of his hand.

"Menudo. I had to make some substitutions--"

"It'll be fine, Joey," Wanda interrupted. "Everything you make is delicious."

"It's a good thing we can cook. Otherwise, we'd starve." He was looking at the sofa, smile on his lips.

"Hey! I lived out of a van! Not like I could cook in it!" Daisy protested, but didn't look up from her computer.

Joey snorted. "Make yourself at home. Soup'll be on soon."

"Thanks."

With Wanda and Joey in the kitchen, Clint joined Daisy on the sofa. When she still didn't look up, he poked her knee. "What's cookin', good lookin'?" he asked.

Daisy still didn't look at him, but he glimpsed a small smile. Leaning back, he crossed his arms behind his head. "All work and no play make Jill a very dull lady."

"Really, Barton? That's the best you got?" Her tone was chilly, but the smile she gave him was genuine. "Busy."

"Ouch," he said, feigning hurt. "Guess I'll just sit here with my high as fuck security clearance and stare at the walls then. You obviously have no use for me or my experience."

Her head jerked around, eyes wide as she looked at him. She pursed her lips, then sighed and turned the laptop screen toward Clint. "Fine. Mister 'I see better from a distance', what the fuck does all of this even mean?"

Clint made a grabbing motion and Daisy reluctantly handed the computer over. There were at least forty tabs open in her browser as well as two streams running in the background. Clint scanned each page, frown growing as he read.

He handed the laptop back with a sigh, then swiped at his face. "It's fucked up, that's what it is--"

"I can _see_ that, but how--"

"No," Clint stopped her. "You don't. This--" he pointed at the screen, "is nothing new. It's just a new scapegoat. It was the Irish, then the Jews, then blacks, then gays, then transgenders, and now… well," he said meeting Daisy's eyes. She was so young. "Now it's you. And Wanda. Joey, Yo-Yo, all the rest. It's all about power and control. Scare the fuck out of people. Terrify them, give them someone to hate and you can get them to agree to anything."

"But, this isn't just about us."

Clint shook his head. "No. This is a power grab. This is that asshole Ross cementing his agenda and taking his shitshow on the road, convincing average folks that they have to give him all this in order to be 'safe'." He felt Wanda join them, leaning one hip on the back of the couch.

"What's happened?"

Daisy snorted. "They're not hiding it anymore," she said.

"What?" Wanda asked, confused.

"They're creating 'camps' for enhanced individuals and asking people to turn each other in," he explained. He heard Joey's soft gasp as he continued. "It's like the Salem witch hunts and the rise of the Nazi party in Germany all rolled into one." He shook his head. "Surveillance, restrictions, curtailing rights… scary as fuck and SHIELD is legit right in the middle of it all."

"Fuck!" Daisy hissed. "I was hoping…"

Wanda pressed a palm to her shoulder. "We all were. I, too, want to go home."

"Looks like I'm back to hiding in the closet," Joey added.

Clint looked up, swallowed his anger and shook his head. "No. Coulson and Rogers won't let that happen." He looked at them all. "None of us will."

"And what can you do from here?" Daisy asked, far too cynical and jaded for her years.

"I don't know," he answered truthfully. "But I _do_ know that Cap is fighting this. Coulson is fighting this." He tugged the laptop back from Daisy's weak grasp and began to click other sources. "We do have people behind us. They're just not getting the air time the idjits are."

The articles he pointed out were from _Mother Jones,_ _Democracy for America,_ _The Nation,_ and a whole host of sites outside of the US, none of which were "mainstream" or garnering headlines.

Wanda sniffed. "None of that is helpful."

Clint met her eyes and tried to smile. "It is. We just might be stuck here a lot longer than any of us had planned."

"I never planned for this," Joey said, voice soft and sad.

"Yeah, I hear that."

"Is dinner ready?" Wanda asked, perking up. "And can we please leave this subject until later?"

They all agreed and trailed after her into the small kitchen. It was lucky that it was just the four of them because the tiny round table barely fit them and ended with Clint knocking knees with Joey. "Sorry, man."

"I'm used to it. At least I don't have her heels digging into my toes." He pointed at Wanda. "Or her Botas bruising my shins." He cocked his head at Daisy who just grinned and crossed her legs, tapping Clint's knee.

In response, he slid his chair back. "I can take a hint."

Joey shook his head and handed him a bowl of stew. "You should be safe enough. Just don't get between Daisy and the coffee maker."

"Sounds like Phil, uh, Coulson," Clint said, quickly correcting himself before taking a bite of the fiery soup.

Daisy chuckled. "Don't worry about us. We won't let your secret slip."

Clint swallowed, his eyes stinging and lips burning. "What?" he gasped, then reached for the bottle of moonshine, which he opened quickly and took a large gulp.

"Hey!" Joey said, alarmed. "Is the menudo too hot?" Joey tasted it. "Damn! That'll put hair on your chest."

Clint fanned his open mouth. "More like strip it off!"

"What kind of peppers did you use?" Wanda asked. Clint noticed that she hadn't taken a bite yet.

"I don't know. I told you, I had to make do with substitutions." He got up from the table and picked up a couple of shiny red peppers. "At least these aren't habaneros."

"No, those are Dorset Naga peppers. They're at least twice as hot as habaneros," Wanda said, making everyone else gape at her. "What? I like to cook! And I spent a lot of time in the kitchen at headquarters. Sam is really into spicy curries so I wanted to learn how to make them."

"Pizza anyone?" Clint asked.

"You got a pizza oven hidden in your pack, Hawkeye?" Joey asked, embarrassment giving his words a sharp edge.

"Um, no?"

"No delivery out here and they sure don't want us popping into town on a whim," Daisy explained. "We have to 'call ahead'. Make sure folks are ready for us."

"Oh," Clint sighed. "That sucks."

"I can fix it," Joey said. "Just… give me some time." He dug around in the fridge and brought out three dips, carrots, and celery. "There. That's a good snack."

"What is all that?"

"Muhummara, hummus, labneh," Joey answered, but he was distracted, already at the stove.

Clint looked up at Wanda and Daisy. They both shrugged. "So far everything he's made has been good."

"The menudo was great, just more spice than I can handle," Clint said, making sure Joey heard him. "I bet it'd even make Wilson sweat," he added as they stood and headed to the living area. 

Glancing around the cozy space, he said, "This ain't so bad, really." He sprawled on a chair, kicking his legs up on the coffee table.

"It is as you said, one cell for another," Wanda agreed as she dug into the muhummara.

Daisy shrugged, her feet on the edge of the table, laptop perched on her bent legs. "Eh, it's pretty damn good. I've lived in much worse."

Clint nudged Daisy with his toe. "Beggars can't be choosers, eh, shake-n-bake?"

The glare Daisy shot him was half-hearted. "Keep it up with the nicknames and I'll post your secret far and wide."

"What secret?" Clint crossed his arms over his chest. "I ain't got any secrets, except, well the _fam._ And I know you're not talking about Laura and the kids."

She rolled her eyes at him. "I'm talking about Phil."

"What about him?"

"Anyone except AC can see how you feel about him."

Clint shot her a look. "Just one in a long line of ducklings who can't help but fall for him," he said. "Ain't that right, _Agent_ Johnson?"

Wanda held up her hand. "Stop it, you two."

"She started it."

Wanda stared at him, her eyes wide, until he cracked and slumped down, grumbling. "Fine."

"I think everyone here cares for Agent Coulson. Some of us for longer and with greater depth." She eyed Daisy who ducked her head and wouldn't meet Wanda's gaze. "But I am quite certain that right now, no one in this room is secretly pining over SHIELD's dear ex-director."

"I wasn't pining," Clint said, petulant and almost whining.

"No, but circumstance was never in your favor," Wanda agreed. "Same for you," she told Daisy.

"Not circumstance, but station. Phil would never--"

"--abuse his position or power," Clint finished for her. "He was always like that. Honorable and so damned idealistic--"

"--you couldn't help but fall for him, just a little bit."

Clint grinned at her and nodded. "Asshole _rocks_ a suit."

Daisy laughed, her eyes lighter. Clint grinned in response, Joey calling from the kitchen, "I've got it!"

"Even if he doesn't, I'm not saying a word," Clint whispered, both women nodding their agreement.

~~*~~

Clint didn't drink too much; well, not more than his usual. He was pleasantly buzzed as he dropped onto the bed in his dreary bunk. The hours of companionship and comradery had gone a long way to easing his mind and making his heart lighter than it had been probably since Loki. His eyes slid shut before he could bother with taking his shirt off, never mind his jeans.

_The world was bright. Untainted; sun highlighting flowers and vines, traffic a distance thrum in the background. Clint walked, grinning at the others passing him by. He was drinking coffee and perusing all the magazines before selecting one. He settled into a ratty old chair whose springs warred with his ass, but the coffee was flavorful and dark, just the way he liked it. Just when he was comfortable, awareness dulled, the view shifted._

_Instead of a bright sunny day with pedestrians walking their dogs or joggers blazing past moms with baby carriages, the passersby were neon-clad monsters: vampires, werewolves and ghouls. Nothing had changed except the people. He tried to keep perspective and keep calm, but the burgundy crepe myrtle were a too vivid backdrop to horrors that Clint hadn't seen since his time in the circus. When the skies ran blood red, his heart rabbited in his chest until he was gasping for breath and nothing made sense, but his legs wouldn't move._

_He found himself holding a sword, the sky a vivid neon backdrop to the wet squelch as he ran Phil through. He cringed, tried to toss the sword away, to go to Phil, but his feet were stuck in hardened concrete, forcing him to bear witness to the world burning at his hand. 'Not again,' he prayed aloud._

_When Natasha smiled at him with blood on her teeth, he screamed._

Sitting upright, he scanned his dimly lit surroundings. He was still in his bunk, no blood painting him or the walls.

Groaning, he stood. There was no way he was getting anymore sleep tonight, not with aching muscles and adrenaline coursing through his veins. The glance at his phone told him it was still a couple of hours from dawn. He stepped into his boots and left, quietly skulking through the halls to avoid anyone working the graveyard (ha!) shift.

He found himself staring through the window to Bucky's room. Again.

It was futile to fight it, so he stepped into the darkened room and sank down against the wall. "Mind if I join you?" he asked his silent companion.

It was stupid to ask questions of a guy in cryo, but Clint couldn't help talking, couldn't stop the words. Anything to get his mind off of whatever the hell issue his mind was dealing with now.

"I can't decide if you did the right thing or not, but times like tonight? I envy you," Clint admitted. "I mean, I'm pretty sure you're not having nightmares. I hope you're not. I hope you're dreaming good things at least. Something happy."

He licked his lips. "Would it be weird if I told you I hope you can hear me?" Clint snorted. "Of course it's weird, Barton. You keep telling him shit you haven't told anyone, not even Nat. If he could actually hear you, he'd be sticking his feet out of the bottom of the tube and running for the hills."

Clint blinked. "Well, shit. Now I'm talking to myself."

He grimaced up at Bucky's sleeping face. "It's official. The circus freak is crazy."

"Clint."

Coulson's voice was flat, taking that carefully modulated tone he used when he was holding back a tide of emotion.  
"Sir, I can explain--"

"Stop," he said, eyes pinched.

Clint did.

"I'm not calling about your unauthorized excursions."

"Oh."

Coulson's lips pursed and Clint's heart rate spiked. "Did something happen to Laura? Or the kids?" He leaned forward to try to read Phil through the video screen.

"Your family is fine. I swore I'd look after them the day you signed the papers and I intend to keep that promise." He met Clint's gaze, his face an open book. "I will not let anything happen to them."

Clint huffed out a relieved breath. "What is it then?"

"After reading the reports out of Wakanda, I'm sending a transport to relocate you."

Clint went still, eyes shuttering. "Just me, sir?"

"Yes."

Clint crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back, a slight quirk to his lips, cocky as all get out as he balanced the chair on two legs. "Missed me?"

"Clint."

"No," Clint said, dropping his chair to the floor and leaning forward, voice firm.

Phil blinked a couple of times, his lips slightly parted. Clint had caught him by surprise. "I assumed you'd be eager to leave. Broaden your horizons."

"You said 'relocate', not 'go free', or even 'reunite'. I'm not an idiot. And I'm not trading one prison for another."

"Clint," Phil said, voice almost pleading. "Bobbi… we're all worried about you. I don't think hovering over James Barnes' cryo tube is an ideal solution to any of your problems, past _or_ present."

"Fuck you, sir. I'm the only one--"

"No, Clint. You're not. What happened to you was completely different than what happened to Barnes. Your mind is no more a suitable test subject than mine. Or Bobbi's."

"I don't care. I'm staying."

Phil sighed, his face shifting expressions until there was nothing but open concern on it. "Why, Clint?"

Clint shrugged. "I don't know. I…" He paused. "I want to help him," he finished voice small.

Phil was silent for long enough to make Clint wonder what he could be thinking, but he finally nodded. "I think I get it," he offered. "But, Clint, there are no guarantees… Barnes might not be fixable."

"Maybe not, but too many folks never gave up on me and I'm not giving up on him."

"I've seen that look before, Clint. It never ends well."

"What look?" Clint asked, trying to sound nonchalant.

"You fall too easily and too hard," Phil sighed. "And this time… well, you were there. I don't need to tell you how Rogers looks at Barnes."

"I am aware," Clint's voice came out a bit strangled.

"Clint--"

"But Steve's in love with Sam," he protested. "I saw it. With my own eyes." Phil looked skeptical and Clint kept talking. "Maybe not a kiss, but there was something there."

Phil blinked. "Okay."

"Okay?"

"I'm not going to lie and tell you I'm not concerned. But I know you, Clint, and I know it's already too late." He tried to smile, but his heart wasn't in it. "I'm sorry we never--"

Clint held up his hand. The last thing he needed right now was to open up long-healed wounds. "You can stop that shit right now, sir. I love you. Like I love Nat and Bobbi and Laura, but I'm not _in love_ with you," he was firm, surprising himself with the admission. But it felt right. "Maybe in an alternate universe we ended up together, but that's not here and now. It's not _us._ I need you out there, fixin' the world, making this shitshow right. Not worrying about me."

"I'm always going to worry about you," Phil admitted, eyes bright, but the small smile was genuine and so warm Clint had to swallow back a lump in his throat.

"I'm fine. Really."

"How about if I find you something to do besides gardening?"

Clint gaped as Phil's eyes twinkled. "You thought I didn't know?" he asked. "I know all about Jiru's moonshine. Save me some."

"I--I--" he stuttered.

"I'm not leaving you there, any of you. Not permanently. I promise, Clint," Phil said, words a vow.

Clint nodded. "Okay."

"It's taking more time than I had hoped. The least I can do is keep you out of trouble."

"I'm staying out of trouble!" Clint protested.

"Except that the medical technicians think the research wing is haunted."

Clint bit his lip and tried for an innocent 'who me?' expression. He didn't fool anyone.

"Sorry?"

Phil snorted. "Behave for a few more days. And no more encouraging Daisy or Wanda, either. I know it doesn't seem like it, but T'Challa has taken a political risk in having you all there. Do not make it harder on him than necessary."

"Yes, sir. I'll try to be good, sir."

Phil nodded. "Take care of yourself, Clint."

Clint nodded, but the screen had already gone dark. He sighed and leaned his head on his hands.

~~*~~

Phil was true to his word. But Clint thought he was going to go mad in the interim. He stuck to the 'straight and narrow', or as close as he ever came. He kept finding himself halfway to Barnes' room or outside the grounds or nearly to Wanda's place before he caught himself and turned around. He was not a solitary creature and definitely not one well-suited to sitting and reading or watching television. He was accustomed to action and the longer he went without doing _something,_ the more he felt like he was going to explode.

Just when his patience had run out, there was a knock on his door.

He jumped up to answer it.

"Bobbi!" he squeaked reaching to tug her forward into a hug. "Where you been hidin'?"

She shook her head and rolled her eyes at him, but her hug was warm and filled with affection. "C'mon, Clint. I've been asked to take you to the mechanical department."

Clint bounced on his toes, following her eagerly. "Mechanical? Why?"

She smirked. "You'll see once we're there."

Turned out that Bobbi was talking about _human_ mechanics. Clint gaped at the equipment and blinked, a bit awestruck at the _arm_ that sat in a wire frame, every light in the place pointed toward it.

He looked back at Bobbi, waited for an explanation.

"Ah, Mister Barton, there you are!" King T'Challa stepped out of a far door.

"Your Majesty," Clint said, trying to emulate Phil's graceful bow and missing by a country mile.

T'Challa just smiled and held out his hand, covering their clasped palms with his own before releasing Clint. "I have heard tell that you are as skilled with a sniper rifle as you are the bow."

Clint glanced at Bobbi, but she was just standing there, one eyebrow raised, a tiny smile on her lips and offering him no aid.

He rubbed the back of his neck. "Well, honestly, sir, there's no way I'm better at anything than the bow, but ain't no one in SHIELD ever matched my scores."

"So you'll allow us to study you in action?"

"Action?"

"We want to calibrate Sergeant Barnes' new arm and I thought it'd be nice if we gave him a head start."

"Oh. I see." Clint said, nodding, smile growing. "You want to measure me while I shoot--"

"And fight."

"And fight and then make sure that Barnes' new arm can do those things, too?"

"Well, we know it can do them," T'Challa said eyes twinkling. "It is a matter of doing them _well._ "

Clint couldn't help but smile. "Sign me up!"

"Very good," T'Challa said as a man with glasses and a contagious smile joined them. "Allow me to introduce Doctor Joshua Itobo. He is the chief scientist here."

Clint shook the doctor's hand. "Pleased to meet you, Doc."

"It is my pleasure, Agent Barton."

"It's just Clint, sir. Please."

"Only if you call me Joshua. I am less than traditional and consider myself mostly an engineer," he said with a self-effacing grin. "I hear Doctor Itobo and think of my father."

"An engineer, huh?" Clint asked, interest piqued. "So you like fast cars, rockets, and blowing shit up?" he teased.

Joshua chuckled. "Only in my youth."

"Youth?" Clint protested. "Dude, you're younger than me! And I ain't _old._ " Though he did feel older than his years some days.

"Hardly."

Clint shook his head. "What is it with you Wakandans?" He turned to glance over his shoulder to where Bobbi and T'Challa were conversing over a large screen filled with row upon row of data. "Are you hiding a fountain of youth around here, your Majesty?"

"It is nothing more than clean living, Clint."

The little smile accompanying that statement made Clint snort, but he let it drop. No sense in being too much of a smart ass to his host.

"So, Doc, whatcha need me to do?"

"First, I'd like to get a baseline for you."

"Sure, whatever you need."

For the rest of the afternoon, Clint was poked, prodded, scanned and tested to within an inch of his life. He hated every minute, but gritted his teeth and soldiered through. He'd agreed to this and it was for a good cause, after all.

~~*~~

Clint arrived early the next morning as instructed. He was well-fed, thoroughly caffeinated and wearing sweats and a sleeveless tee. When he stepped through the door, Joshua greeted him, his contagious smile accompanied rambling and technical shit that Clint really didn't care to pay too much attention to.

He went where he was directed, soon found himself wired up with leads and sensors damn near _everywhere._ The technician led him through another door to a long hallway stripped bare. There were mats on the floor and halfway up the walls, but the most interesting part were the targets at the far end.

He raised an eyebrow at Joshua. "You want me to do a tumbling run or what?"

Joshua's head jerked up from the tablet he was carrying. "Oh! No. Sorry, Agent Bart--, uh, Clint. This was the best we could do."

"The best what, though?"

"It's a range. For archery, at the moment. Then, once we get sufficient recordings, we'll move to hand-to-hand, and finally other ranged weaponry."

Clint looked at Joshua. "This isn't going to get you the data you need," he said. "With all due respect. Sir."

"What do you mean?"

"There's no challenge here. How far is the target? Barely 40 yards, right? You want to put me through my paces, then give me a challenge. I can do this blindfolded and half asleep."

Joshua blinked, then ducked his head. "We don't-- I mean, that is to say, this is as far as the cables reach I can't move you somewhere else." He frowned. "I am sorry."

"You don't have the tech to make all of this wireless?" Clint asked, waving at the sensors covering him from head to toe.

"Uh, I hadn't--" Joshua started to protest, then he squared his shoulder and gave a firm nod. "No. You are quite right. If I can beg your patience, give me two days and then we'll do this right."

"Sure, Doc, whatever. But can we take these off?"

"Sir, Agent Barton," a young technician spoke up. "We can, of course, wait but everything is set up and even if this is no challenge to Agent Barton--"

"Clint," he corrected, interrupting.

"--to Clint," the technician continued. "We might as well calibrate the measurements. If it is easy for him, all the better."

Joshua nodded. "Good idea."

"You don't mind, do you?" she asked Clint.

"Nope. But don't blame me if I get all tangled up in all these confounded cables!"

They both chuckled under their breath and Clint knew that they didn't believe him, but he did get tangled up and twisted around. One shot he had to make while lying down because the cords pulled taut as he was lining up a shot while climbing the wall for a flip. He fell -- Ouch! -- but still made the shot from flat on his back. The applause was nearly deafening and Clint grinned.

"Thanks. The Amazing Hawkeye. Here all week," he said stifling a groan. "But could one of you help me out?"

~~*~~

The testing continued until Clint was dizzy from exertion, head swimming and muscles cramping.

He collapsed onto his back on the mat, tapping out. "Uncle," he muttered over the pounding of his heart. His opponents withdrew silently and that should be creepy but Clint was honestly used to the silent and deadly type.

A shadow fell over him and he dragged his eyes open to see T'Challa holding out a hand. "Do you find my guards difficult, Clint?"

Grasping the offered hand, Clint groaned as he stood, then bent over, palms on his thighs as he tried to catch his breath. "'m not too proud to admit every single one of them can wipe the floor with me and not break a sweat." Straightening, he saluted the three Dora Milaje who had bested him time and time again. He had held his own for awhile, against one, but when there were three of them? Clint was flat on his back so fast, he wasn't sure even Natasha could take them on. The tallest, Okoye, gifted Clint with a tiny smile and a twinkle in her eye. _Ah, hell._ What was it with Clint and beautiful, scary assassins? They all wanted to adopt him.

"If we are no longer needed, Majesty?" she asked.

"Of course."

Clint waved with his fingers before grabbing a towel and swiping at the sweat. 

"Wait!" Joshua, called out. "You'll displace the sensors."

"I'm sorry, Doc, but I'm flat out. My bruises have bruises and I think my spleen's ruptured."

Joshua's eyes widened and he frowned down at his tablet. "Oh dear," he muttered as he moved displays on the screen. He huffed out a relieved breath, then looked up at Clint, _really_ looked at him. "You should rest, but I can assure you that the Royal Guard did you no permanent damage." He turned the tablet toward Clint who just waved it off.

"I was kidding, but I'm not kidding about being done." He reached for one sensor and peeled it off his skin, then handed it to Joshua. "So done."

When Clint fell into bed, hair still dripping, he found himself grinning, an honest happy smile accompanied by satisfaction from a job well done. He'd gotten his ass handed to him, but he'd still managed to teach them a couple of new moves and held out for long enough that he'd surprised them and earned their respect. After a couple of days of sparring, he thought he could count T'Challa's Dora Milaje as friends at the very least.

With a cocky smile on his face, he sagged into the mattress and fell into exhausted slumber.

A banging at his door dragged Clint from a delightful dream. He was just getting to the good parts. Dammit.

Dragging himself out of bed, he opened the door and leaned against it, eyes bleary and barely open. "Whuh?" he mumbled, incoherent.

"Clint! You're not ready?" Bobbi was glaring at him, one hand on her hip as she rolled her eyes at him.

"Huh? Ready for what?" 

He racked his brain but couldn't recall anything on the schedule. It was too early and Clint was still too bruised for this conversation. Especially before coffee. He moved to close the door in her face and crawl back into bed. His attempt was easily thwarted by her foot and her palm.

"Dammit, Birdie!" Clint swore.

Bobbi tilted her head and raised one eyebrow, staring him down with that withering glare she did so well.

"Fuck," he grumbled. "At least have the good grace to go get me some coffee?" His voice sounded whiny and hoarse.

But the puppy dog eyes worked. He could see Bobbi softening. "Please?" he begged.

And that did it.

Bobbi huffed out a breath, but the glare had turned fond when she rolled her eyes. "Fine. But you better be dressed and ready to go when I get back. Unless you want to miss it when they thaw Barnes."

That last bit made Clint kick it into high gear. He had rarely gotten ready so quickly, even with the extra bit of time he spent futzing with gel in his hair to make it extra spiky.

Bobby just snorted when she saw him, shaking her head as she handed him his perfectly doctored coffee and the bag with a toasted bagel slathered with cream cheese just like he liked it. He bussed her cheek after taking a fortifying swallow of sweet, sweet caffeine. "I knew I was your favorite."

"Hardly," she said, dry and not the least bit amused. "Have you forgotten Hunter?"

"How could I? He's more trouble than three of me."

That made Bobbi chuckle. "You're not wrong."

And it was with a smile Clint walked into Barnes' room.

Though the smile faded quickly. They were already halfway into some sort of climactic countdown and Clint was shoved into the corner and told to stay out of the way while Bobbi was drawn into the hushed whispers and the escalating activity.

T'Challa stepped into the room, flanked by Okoye and two other Dora Milaje Clint didn't recognize. "Is there a problem Doctor?" T'Challa asked and Clint tuned out the answer to wave at Okoye. He received a slight smile for his effort, which was honestly more than he'd expected. She was working. And, sure, T'Challa was safe here, his people utterly loyal to him, but you couldn't be too safe, especially with what must be going on outside of Wakanda's borders.

Clint mused on that, on the fact that he'd become damn near settled in this place, adjusted to the small run he'd been given. He was grateful for it all, knew how bad it could have been. And now he was waiting on the whole reason he'd insisted on staying, was caught up in excitement for the possibility of Barnes finally being _free_.

The voices died down and Clint glanced up. Something was definitely happening inside the tube.

His heart gave a little lurch as the tube slid up and a burst of frost crystals sprayed the closest scientists. Okoye and her compatriots were standing very still, attention keenly focused on the king who had just moved in close to Barnes.

Clint blinked. He wasn't sure that was a good idea. Had no idea what it would be like coming out of cryo, what kind of associations Barnes' mind might make. He shouldered forward. "Excuse me, sir, but I think we'd all--" he tilted his head toward the royal guard, "feel better if I was the one he first sees."

T'Challa considered Clint for a moment, then took a graceful step back, conceding the point.

And that was how Clint found himself with his arms full of a very heavy, very groggy and confused former assassin.

~~*~~

Barnes had been so limp, Clint'd thought he might not have survived the procedure, but apparently that was "normal." It fucking wasn't "normal", none of this was, but Clint had simply followed orders and carried Barnes to the fully prepped and waiting hospital bed where the scientists and doctors quickly pushed him out of the way and began poking, prodding, and measuring Barnes.

Clint couldn't really see what was going on, but he tried, until a warm hand on his elbow stopped him. "I promise they will not injure Sergeant Barnes," T'Challa said.

"Oh, hey, your Majesty. I didn't think--"

T'Challa smiled at him. "You care for Sergeant Barnes a great deal."

The observation simply stated made Clint pause. He'd thought he was pretty opaque with only Phil knowing, but apparently he'd been obvious.

"Never fear, I will not speak of it. I was merely wondering how you came to know him so well? It seems to me that your time together was quite limited."

Clint shrugged and swallowed. "I don't really know him, I just know he got screwed by life worse than anyone I've ever known, including me. That ain't right and I--." He faltered. "Well, that just makes me want to help. Kind of feel like he needs someone to look out for him now, you know?"

"It is admirable that you feel that way. Some would be resentful and most would be indifferent. It is the rare soul who can find empathy and compassion when his own life is in ruins."

Clint blushed, had to look away. It wasn't like he thought he was doing anything that spectacular. Barnes had been shit on and Clint wanted to help. That's all it was.

T'Challa rested a palm on Clint's shoulder as he leaned in close, voice a soft whisper. "You are a good man, Agent Barton, and I believe that Sergeant Barnes is as well. I wish you the best with whatever happens here."

Clint gaped after the king who quietly told the scientists that he had to leave for a few weeks and Doctor N'lix was instructed to keep him apprised of all the developments.

"He is amazing, isn't he?" Bobbi asked, startling Clint. He threw a palm over his heart.

"Warn a guy!" he exclaimed.

"Not my fault you were gawping after the king."

"I was not gawping. I was just… he's…," he sagged. "He almost seems unreal."

"You got a crush, Hawkeye?" Bobbi asked, nudging Clint with an elbow.

Clint's eyes darted to the form on the hospital bed. "Maybe?"

"Just keep it to yourself. The king is so far out of your league…"

Clint sighed. "Don't have a crush on _him_. He's just smart and generous and so damned kind."

Bobbi didn't have a comeback and Clint risked a side-eyed glance. She was staring at him in thoughtful silence that made Clint squirm.

"C'mon, birdbrain, I owe you breakfast."

"But--"

"Barnes isn't going anywhere for awhile. I doubt he'll be coherent for a couple of hours."

Clint reluctantly allowed himself to be pulled out of the room.

~~*~~

It actually took about a full eight hours for Barnes to be completely defrosted. Clint knew that wasn't the proper scientific term, the doctors had corrected him enough times, but it still fit.

Clint was sat by Barnes' bed playing Candy Crush when the soldier struggled to sit up.

"Hold on! Hold up! Give me a sec to raise the bed!" Clint fumbled with the controls but got the head to start raising before Barnes could pull any of the many tubes out.

He blinked up at Clint, confusion and the drugs making him frown. 

Clint held out a spoon of ice chips. It was about time he could do this for someone else. Barnes took the offered spoon easily and the others that followed before he shook his head. "Barton?" he croaked.

"Clint," Clint corrected. "We're friends, Barnes." Clint wanted to slap himself. What had possessed him to say that? Barnes didn't know him from Adam.

"Friends?"

And there it was. How in the hell was Clint supposed to explain that he'd come to depend on Barnes' silent, accepting presence when Clint was feeling down or anxious or any of the innumerable things that Clint had unloaded at the soldier's frozen feet.

Clint scratched the back of his head, then shrugged. "Um, well, I'd like to think that we could be?" he said, voice questioning and unsure.

"Why?" Barnes asked. "You'd be better off staying far away from me. 'm dangerous," he muttered.

"I think I can take you right now." Clint nodded toward the missing limb, then he felt like an ass, but couldn't take it back.

"You think I need my arm to put you down?" Barnes challenged and Clint grinned.

"Well once you're not weaker than a day old kitten, we can see about that."

Barnes dropped his head back to the pillow as though confirming Clint's words. "You're an ass," he said, and he sounded almost… relieved..

"Guilty as charged." He lifted the spoon again. "You have to finish this cup before you get anything else."

Barnes' lips snapped shut.

"Aw, c'mon, Barnes--"

"James," Barnes interrupted.

Clint snorted. "Fine, whatever. _James._ Eat the damned ice chips. I don't know what the fuck Hydra did when you were thawed, but they're de rigueur here." He leaned in and mock whispered, "I have it on good authority that if you finish this cup, there's a warm cup of hot cocoa including marshmallows in your future."

James opened his mouth like he wanted to say something, confusion warring with something Clint couldn't identify on his features. He simply shook his head and accepted the spoon.

"I fucking hate ice chips," Barnes hissed when the cup was empty.

"Why?" Clint asked. "They're just hardened snow flakes."

"What?"

"Ice. Just a bunch of snowflakes, right? What's not to like?"

James frowned, looked at Clint like he had three heads for so long that Clint began to wish a hole would open up under his chair. "Didn't you promise me hot chocolate?"

Clint brightened, grateful for the change in subject. "Oh!" he said, hopping up. "Yeah! Give me a coupla minutes, k?" He hurried out of the room, then turned around and stuck his head back in. "Don't go getting any ideas about going anywhere!" he called before darting back out, but not before he heard James' squawk in protest.

~~*~~

The hot chocolate was kind of contraband, but M'yra just shook her head at Clint and looked the other way when he scooted past her. He blew her a laughing kiss, then ducked back into James' room, closing the door behind him.

"I don't think it's too hot by now, but go easy with it," Clint cautioned as he handed one of the paper cups over.

James gave him a puzzled look, but inhaled deeply of the aroma wafting out of the plastic lid. "It's not drugged?" he asked, jaw clenching as though he fully expected to be lied to. 

"No!" Clint protested, probably a bit loudly. "I wouldn't do that." He lifted his own cup. "We can trade cups if you want?"

James still looked at him with a combination of confusion and suspicion. "You haven't taken a drink of yours yet."

"Then you'll get my germs," Clint said, but took a sip, humming in delight at the chocolatey warmth.

"I think I can take your germs," James said, holding out his cup for Clint to swap out.

"Why?" James asked before taking a cautious sip.

"Why what?" Clint asked, though he probably knew what was being asked, and no, he did not stare as James' eyes closed and his cheeks pinked with the second, larger sip. If his heart was racing, it was only because he had smuggled in forbidden goods. It had nothing to do with the way James' eyes went soft, his lips darkening from the heat.

After a long silence that was trying to become awkward, James repeated his question. "Why're you here? Why're you helping me? Why is anyone?"

Clint shrugged. "Dude, it's the right thing to do," he said, like it was no big deal. It _wasn't._ "T'Challa's a good guy, wanted to make up for being so wrong about you." At least Clint was pretty sure that was why. "And I, well, I get it. I mean, it's not the same, never is, but I know what it feels like to have someone else deciding what goes in your head and what doesn't matter."

James frowned. "How? Did Hydra--" He stopped mid-sentence and looked so pained, Clint had to speak up.

"Nah, man," Clint said, shaking his head. "Loki. Thor's douche canoe of a brother," he replied, voice steady and easy, though he sure didn't feel either. "Had a mindfuck gem on a staff."

"You didn't have to tell me that."

"I know. But I relate and thought you'd like to have someone around who gets it," he said, very careful to keep the desperation out of his voice. "But I can call Steve, see if he can come, if you want?"

James' hand shot out to grab for Clint. "No! Let's not make tracks."

"Make tracks? Man, no one talks like that!" Clint snorted and James gave him another quizzical head tilt with an almost-there smile that made Clint's heart give a little lurch. _Shit._

" _I_ talk like that," James replied, a cross between prim and offended. "Not like I learned a lot of modern slang when I didn't need to speak much at all."

Clint held up his hands. "Okay, okay. I'm a dick, so sue me."

James frowned, that little furrow growing between his brows.

"Just a figure of speech," Clint said. "Anyway, so no Steve?"

James shook his head. "They haven't fixed me yet. It's not safe. _I'm_ not safe. Not for anyone."

"Yeah, I mean, no. Um, whatever. What I mean to say is you're safe here. No one's got your words and they're all good people here, so nothing's gonna happen. The king wouldn't have brought you here if he believed you would endanger his people. T'Challa's smarter than that. So _he_ trusts you, too." He was trying to reassure James, but it was clearly not working.

"I didn't want them to pull me out until they had a way to fix me." He was shaking his head harder and began muttering, pulse spiking. "It's too soon. Not right. Dammit." He let out a soft, mournful sound, something like a sad growl and Clint's throat tightened. "Got to go back under."

Clint reached for James, pressing a palm to his cheek when he didn't acknowledge Clint. "Hey, beau- um, Buck, um… _James_ , look at me." 

James reacted to the touch, leaning into Clint's fingers before jerking back to glare at Clint with wide eyes. "Don't."

Clint lifted his hands, palms open. "Sorry. Sorry. I was just… you were getting agitated." He took a deep breath. "Look, you want out of here, you gotta pass muster, whatever their criteria. You sure as hell aren't gonna do that wearing a murder face." Clint waved at James' expression, which changed from a pretty damn terrifying glare to one of utter befuddlement. At least Clint still had that skill.

"This is just my face, Barton," he frowned. Clint thought it was a pretty attractive face, the whole package from dimple to intense blue eyes, fairly stunning. "But I've seen your "resting" face. Now that's fucking intimidating."

Clint blinked, couldn't tell if Bucky was serious or actually _teasing_ him.

"Cat got your tongue, Hawkeye? I've never known you to not have a quick quip or comeback."

Clint grinned "Now who's the ass?"

James shrugged. "Never denied it. But it really was Steve that got us into the most trouble."

"You are going to be okay. Doc N'lix's team including Doctor Barbara Morse have been working pretty much around the clock. I even volunteered to allow them to test the procedure on me--"

"You what?" James hissed, hand grabbing Clint's. "Why would you do that?"

"Um, it wasn't a big deal. They just took brain scans, compared them to some older ones from my file." Clint didn't know why he was reassuring James, why he was trying to convince him that Clint was unharmed. "Seriously, dude, chill. Bobbi wasn't going to let them do anything she wasn't sure was one-hundred percent safe."

"How are brains scans going to get this shit out of my head?"

"'m not the expert, but they're going to do more than _take_ scans. I don't really know, but you're like the only one they can try it on, so they had to wake you." He gave James an encouraging smile. "Bobbi's one of the best and all the scientists, doctors, and engineers in Wakanda have been working on the problem. They can do it. They can free you." Clint rested his palm on James' forearm when James just nodded, still so unsure and disbelieving.

"I should probably get going. Let you get some sleep," Clint said when he couldn't find anything else to say that wasn't far too personal, so basically completely inappropriate.

"Yeah," James said, swallowing. "Don't let me keep you."

"Hey, no," Clint said. "It's not that. I just know how it is in hospitals. They're _exhausting._ "

"Haven't been in normal ones. Wouldn't know," he mumbled. "Not sure how things work."

"I can stay. Just don't let me overstay my welcome. I'm kind of like truffles or caviar--"

"You're like truffles and caviar?" The skeptical almost-smile James gave Clint made him smirk in return.

Clint leaned close, voice a conspiratorial whisper, "Yeah, better in small doses." 

Then he winked at James, who cracked an honest-to-god real smile. Clint wanted to fist bump and dance a jig, but he found some restraint from somewhere and simply cocked his head and offered up his own smile, smaller, less cocky, but it definitely came from the heart. Maybe things weren't going to be as hard or as awkward as he'd feared.

Clint really should learn to quit counting on things to go well. They always went pear-shaped and he might as well stop hoping for any other outcome. Like today. And it had started out so well.

Even the the crick in Clint's neck from dozing at James' bedside couldn't dampen the warm pleasure from waking up to a fuzzy eyed, bed-headed James Buchanan Barnes. And he managed to smirk and tease without revealing the way his heart fluttered in his chest when James gave him a befuddled grin as Clint handed him coffee and told him he was sprung.

"Sprung? What are you going on about?"

"You. Are. Free. To. Leave."

"But--"

"Not the medical center," Clint said, tugging James up. "The shower's over there, so go use it and we can get breakfast before we head down to the lab."

James balked and Clint tugged harder. But apparently a stubborn super soldier assassin was little different than an elephant sat on its butt and unwilling to move. Good thing Clint knew how to get elephants to move.

Letting go, he took a step back and raised his hands. "Fine. Fine. You stay here and meld with the bed for all I care. I'll tell the doc to shut down the research. You're content to stay a murder bot."

Clint snapped his mouth shut, but he didn't look away, or back down. James didn't need to be coddled. Tasha's tough love always seemed to get him moving faster than wallowing ever did.

"Fuck you, Barton. How in the hell has no one murdered you in your sleep?" James growled.

"Who's to say they haven't tried?" Clint shrugged, stomach twisting into a knot because he couldn't tell how badly James had taken his words. Not since his face had shifted into an expressionless mask. 

"Jesus, Joseph, and Mary! You have less self-preservation instinct than Steve." James turned and Clint had to swallow. He was going all tall, dark, and murder-y on Clint, which Clint should be concerned about, but, instead he found it hot as a supernova. As James leaned close, Clint inhaled sharply. "You should run."

Clint lifted his chin and stood his ground, crossing his arms over his chest. "I'm not afraid of you."

"You should be. I'm fucking dangerous, Barton."

"No." Clint shook his head. James was angry, but Clint was in no danger. "Not to me. Not even when you were The Soldier. You didn't kill Tash or Sam or Steve. A real soldier assassin wouldn't care about collateral damage. But _you_ did."

And Clint should know better, but he kept talking. Kept pushing. Never did know when to give it a rest. "I'm not afraid of you," he repeated, "the question is: what're you so afraid of. Why so eager to stay frozen?" Clint took a step forward. "What are you running from?"

The problem with goading a super assassin was that Clint was likely to get his ass handed to him, along with a few teeth. The truly bad thing about doing it right this moment was that James hadn't gotten used to being down an arm. The attempt to punch Clint with his non-existent left hand twisted his body and left him reeling and over balanced. Clint caught him, of course, but James jerked away.

"Get out," he said, voice a low rasp, eyes unblinking even as his chest heaved. Clint knew he'd hurt himself, but he had no idea how badly.

"Look, James, I'm--"

"Get. Out."

Clint's shoulders dropped and he sagged, but turned and walked away, stopping at the door to turn back just long enough to apologize before he fled.

_Way to go, Barton._

~~*~~

Clint opened his mouth and totally fucked everything up. Looked like he should take Coulson up on that relocation after all. Probably should have done it before he screwed up. The worst part was that he really had no idea why he'd been so intent on that particular idea. So what if James was running from something. Everyone had things they didn't want to face. Clint had a shit-ton of them. 

He sighed and dragged the door of the makeshift range open. The space was cavernous, had probably been some sort of manufacturing space for something _huge_ at one time. Clint hadn't asked, he hadn't actually cared. Had just been happy to have a bow in his hand and a place that was big enough for long and trick shots as well as weird acrobatics in an obstacle course set up in a quarter of the space.

He'd gotten a kick out of all the tests they'd put him through, even came up with some outrageous stunts that Joshua hadn't imagined were possible. That had felt good. Nothing like now.

The equipment was all in its proper place, the cabinet still unlocked and freely accessible. Originally taken aback by the lack of locks or keypads or any of the security features Clint was accustomed to, he had commented on it and learned that Wakanda had little crime and certainly none where they were now.

He took out his bow and the quiver, ignoring the arm guard. He wasn't actually a masochist, but right now he was raw and full of self-loathing and wanted nothing between him and the bowstring, wanted to shoot until he couldn't feel his arms.

He'd been lost in the nock-draw-release for long enough that the hateful voice in his head had gone mostly silent, so he heard the door, recognized the cadence of that walk. He lowered his bow, but didn't turn around as Bobbi stepped up beside him.

"Hey, Birdie," he greeted, forcing a cheer that he didn't feel.

"Clint," she said, her frustration with him bleeding through. "What in the hell are you doing?"

"Practicing."

She tapped him on the shoulder. "Look at me."

He turned, lifted an eyebrow, and pasted a cocky smirk on his face. "You're as beautiful as ever."

She didn't roll her eyes, but Clint knew it was a close call. "What happened?"

"What makes you think something happened?"

Okay, so maybe that was a little too disingenuous. She crossed her arms over her chest and _glared._ It wasn't like Clint could resist her even when she wasn't annoyed with him. "I fucked up. Said some shit. Barnes kicked me out. Didn't want to be in the way, so I came here to clear my head. Was thinking about taking Coulson up on the relocation offer."

And now he was babbling. He clamped his mouth shut, hoping he'd said enough that she'd leave.

Bobbi's expression softened. "Let me see if I got this right," she said. "You said something pretty damn insightful but because you have less tact than a tank, it came out wrong. Things escalated, Barnes lost his cool, and you ran here. That about sum it up?"

"Umm…"

"That's typical."

"I tried to apologize!" he protested.

"Well, put your gear up. Maybe it'll take a second time," she said, pointing to his bow.

"Whuh?" Clint had never claimed to be able to keep up with Bobbi. She was wicked smart and his tendency to open his mouth without thinking was part of the problem between them.

"Clint."

"Yeah?"

"Barnes won't go through with the procedure without you there."

He frowned at her. "That's… what? He's pissed at me!"

"Maybe he had time to think about what you said, was able to parse it out and accept it with the intent it was meant." She shook her head, then shoved him gently forward. "You might be a trainwreck, but your heart's in the right place."

"Thanks. I think?"

"Get moving, Clint. You can analyze my words later."

~~*~~

Bobbi led Clint to a different area of the medical complex, one he'd managed to miss in all of his wandering. His nerves were shot when they stepped into the overstuffed room. His eyes landed on Barnes first and his heart gave a little lurch at just how vulnerable and small Barnes looked sitting shirtless in a chair with sensors taped _everywhere._ He glanced at the mess of scarring that led to nothing and had to quickly look away.

Their eyes locked and Clint was mouthing an apology when the elephant in the room finally registered in Clint's periphery. He immediately stopped, mouth flapping like a fish out of water. "What is _that_ doing here?" he croaked, pointing at the machine that had been used to torture Phil. "It was dismantled!"

"Clint," Bobbi said from beside him, voice calm and soothing. 

Both N'lix and Joshua stepped forward. "Is there a problem?" N'lix asked.

"No," Bobbi said.

"Yes!" Clint argued. "That-that thing," he said, again pointing at the Theta Brain-Wave Frequency machine, "what are you using that for?"

Barnes was standing now, the technician scrambling to catch all of the wires and keep them from detaching as he moved forward, eyes dark as he looked at Clint.

"Sorry, Barnes," Clint said. "But I don't think this is a good idea."

"Clint!" Bobbi huffed out.

"What? Phil told me about that damned thing!"

"Agent Barton," Joshua said, voice quiet but forceful enough to get Clint's attention.

"What?"

"We did get the original specifications from SHIELD, doctors Fitz and Simmons were quite instrumental in its development," Joshua explained. "But this is not the same device that Director Coulson was subjected to. We have tuned it specifically to Sergeant Barnes' brain waves. There should be little to no discomfort."

"How are you so sure?"

"Barton." That was James, voice a gruff rasp and Clint had to meet his eyes.

"Look, James, I'm sorry for earlier, but you don't have to do this. You _don't._ "

James snorted. "You don't get it, do you?"

Clint shook his head.

"These people are doing their best to fix me. And you think even a ton of pain would have me on edge?" James looked like he really couldn't comprehend what Clint was saying, why he was arguing.

"But--"

"No buts, Barton. There ain't anything here that's a problem," James said, voice almost amused. "Now if you're done, I'd like to get this show on the road."

Before Clint could protest further, Bobbi grabbed his arm and dragged him away.

"Why am I here then?" he hissed at her in angry whisper.

"Who knows?" She shrugged. "But Sergeant Barnes didn't want to start without you, so just sit down and shut up and let them get on with it."

Clint did as he was told, though he was stiff as a board, right foot tapping to distract himself from the way his gut was twisting. As James laid on the table, Clint couldn't stop thinking about Phil's sparse, though terrifying, description of what that machine had felt like. What it'd put him through. And now James was almost eagerly submitting to it.

Bobbi pressed her hand to his thigh to stop his foot, making him grimace. "Sorry," he whispered, eyes locked on the activity surrounding James.

Clint hadn't noticed the restraints before and he jerked, almost standing before Bobbi dug her fingers into his thigh. "Stop!" she hissed. "This is what he wants."

Clint swallowed and shook his head. "This isn't right," he said, still whispering.

Two fingers pressed against his cheek until he turned to meet Bobbi's gaze. "Do you trust me, Clint?"

"Of course!"

"Then trust that I wouldn't let them hurt him."

He gritted his jaw. If he kept fighting this, then that'd be saying he didn't trust Bobbi, or Joshua, or Fitz and Simmons. And he did. He nodded his head and slumped in the chair, fight gone out of him.

"Good."

"Wish I didn't have to watch this," he muttered.

Bobbi shook her head. "Drama queen," she hummed almost under her breath, but Clint heard her and sniffed, affronted.

When the machine switched on and James went stiff, back arching, the restraints barely holding, Clint had to grip the edges of the chair until his knuckles turned white and the edge bit into his palms to keep from interfering.

Bobbi leaned close, tugged one hand free and intertwined their fingers. Clint was grateful for the support, but couldn't tear his eyes away from what was happening. 

When James started crying out in Russian, Clint felt something inside of him shatter. 

"Нет! Не надо. Я не хочу… Не буду...."

He rushed to James' side. "Все хорошо. Ты в безопасности," he said, hand reaching for James'. "Не надо сопротивляться. Они здесь, чтобы помочь."

James whimpered, but some of the tension bled from his body as he gripped Clint's hand tightly.

"Doc?" Clint asked.

Joshua looked at him and shook his head.

Clint thought they stood like that for days. Hours at least. It felt like that, especially with James thrashing, random words from a dozen different languages barked out in between rough breaths. But James never let go and neither did Clint. If he could offer some comfort, some point of contact against the way James' body was shaking, he would.

N'lix and Joshua's eyes met over the control panel and Clint's heart sank. Nothing good ever came out of that kind of glance.

Joshua nodded at N'lix before turning to Clint. "It's not working. And we don't dare increase the intensity. We have to stop."

"Then do it."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize. Not to me. Just figure out what the problem is and fix it," he said, voice harder and more demanding than he intended.

Joshua tipped his head, acknowledging Clint's demand, then the machine was powering down and James sagged, breathing ragged, eyes closed, but still gripping Clint as tight as ever.

Clint leaned over, pressed his free hand to James' chest "It's okay, Barnes. It's over for now. You're safe in Wakanda."

With a shaky inhale, James blinked his eyes open. Clint didn't comment on the wetness sliding down his temples, but he couldn't help but notice how the intense blue was a storm-tossed gray, a frown on bitten lips. And Clint's palm was still splayed on James' chest, heart thundering beneath warm skin. Clint _wanted._

_Knock it off, Barton. The guy's traumatized enough without you going all fucking creeper on him._

"James," James croaked.

"Huh?"

 _Real smooth, Barton._ The voice in his head sounded unsurprisingly like Phil.

James licked his lips. "Call me James. Remember?" Then he gave Clint a crooked whisper of a smile. "Thought I was the one with brain damage."

"Oh it's like that, is it?"

"Yeah."

Clint barked out a laugh. "Ass." But he was releasing the restraints and helping James to sit up. The guy was wobbly and ended up leaning on Clint. And if Clint angled toward James, it was just to support him better. Definitely not taking advantage of all that bare skin.

"You okay?"

James shrugged. "Did it work?" he asked Joshua.

"What do you remember?" Joshua looked up from the tablet he'd been staring at.

"Nothing too clearly." James squinted, then frowned. "It's all a bit disjointed. Scrambled."

Joshua hummed thoughtfully. "We were trying to return you to the first incident," he said. "The first time they started the programming," he continued. "I do not believe we have everything calibrated quite right for that." Underneath the professional exterior, Clint could tell he was remorseful that it hadn't worked. "But we have extensive readings and can make adjustments before we try again."

"Again?" Clint asked. "Oh, hell--"

James jerked his head up and glared at Clint who clicked his mouth shut.

"Whenever you say, Doc."

"Thank you, Sergeant Barnes."

Clint took a step back, hands clasped together to keep himself from reaching out. He kept his mouth shut as the technician hovered, peeling off the sensors, removing leads, and wrapping wires. Clint was so focused on James that he didn't notice Bobbi handing him James' shirt 

So he was a bit confused when James held out a hand, almost smirking at him. "My shirt?"

Clint blinked and then looked down at his hands. He'd twisted the soft cotton into a bunch, wrinkling it. "Oh, shit! Um, sorry," he said, handing it over.

And he most certainly kept his eyes on James' face as he pulled the shirt over his head. He in no way noticed the cut of James' abs or the flex of muscle across his pecs.

James hopped down off the infernal machine and wobbled, making Clint jump to his side. "I thought you said you were okay?"

"I didn't actually answer that."

Clint growled under his breath. "Now I know why Steve's such a troll. He got it from _you._ "

"Not on your life. I learned my attitude from him. Trust me. Steve Rogers is the biggest troll ever."

"Two peas in a pod, I'd wager."

"Maybe," James said, but his color was better, less pale and not leaning quite so heavily on Clint. "Can we get some food? I'm starved."

Clint looked at the doctors. They both nodded, faces serious before turning their attention back to their readings. "Birdie? Want to join us?"

She rolled her eyes but didn't correct him and that was never a good sign. "I'm going to stay here. See if I can help."

"Okay." Clint wrapped an arm about James' waist and began moving toward the door. "Let's go. I know for a fact that they have this stew in the cafeteria that's amazing."

~~*~~

Dinner was quiet with very few words spoken. Clint was afraid of sticking his foot in his mouth and James looked about a million miles away. Clint couldn't exactly blame him.

By the time they'd finished eating, James' color was better, his hand wasn't shaking, and he stood with confidence.

"Uh, right. This is where you tell me to get lost," Clint said, standing, too.

"Why?" James asked as Clint bussed the table.

"You're not serious, are you?"

"Yeah?"

Clint found himself walking beside James. "I was a dick earlier," he explained. For some reason, he led the way out to the gardens instead of back to James' "room".

James went silent, face awed as they stood on the walk, the moon high overhead and the creatures of the night squawking, chirruping, and scritching all around them as a light breeze rustled through the trees.

"I hope this is okay?" Clint asked, breaking the silence.

James looked at him, his face shadowed, but Clint could swear he looked confused.

"What? Do I have food in my teeth or something?"

"I don't get you."

"What's there to get? I'm a simple guy," Clint replied, flippant.

James snorted. "Riight. As simple as Steve," he said. "You gonna show me around?"

"Yeah, okay. I can do that."

The gardens were transformed by moonlight, the colors washed out from vivid to shades of silver and gray. And there were bright eyes peeking through the foliage. But it was peaceful, soothing and almost serene as they walked. Clint led James along a meandering path until they came to a clearing with a small stream and short waterfall tumbling over smooth stones.

"Oh," James sighed.

Clint dropped to the bench carved into a large, fallen tree. "Yeah," he murmured. "I helped Jiru clear out the stream. It was badly clogged by dead leaves and branches when I started. Took me the better part of an entire day, but it was worth it."

"Jiru?" James asked as he joined Clint on the bench.

"The gardener. He tends the grounds."

"Wow," James said, appreciative.

"Yeah, I was lucky. It's hard work, but a pretty sweet gig. Great for taking the mind off your troubles," Clint said. "I could put in a good word for you?"

"Fat lot of good I could do like this," James said, shifting his left shoulder, which moved… nothing.

Clint swallowed. "Shit! I'm sorry!" Clint slapped a palm over his face. "Did I warn you about my tendency to put my foot in my mouth repeatedly?" he asked, voice muffled by his hand.

James chuckled. "Think I figured that out already."

Clint cocked a head at him. "Well, let me apologize in advance and for earlier. I really didn't mean to be such an ass. My mouth gets me into trouble. Always has."

"Makes me feel at home."

"What?"

"Steve always had his back up, couldn't shut him up to save his soul. Took on the world."

"I'm not--"

"The hell you're not."

"I'm no Captain America," Clint said, adamant.

"No. But you're a trouble magnet, little shit who don't know when he's licked, _exactly_ like Steven Grant Rogers," James said, voice fond.

Clint risked a glance at James and swallowed when their eyes met. Damn man was too gorgeous for Clint's sanity. He hastily looked away. And then proceeded to stick his foot in his mouth again. "So, was I right earlier? You're running from more than the memories of being the Winter Soldier, aren't you?"

Clint blinked. "Aw, mouth, no."

"Yeah," James answered, that one word mournful, making Clint ache for him.

"I'm sorry. For whatever it is you're running from. I wish I could fix it for you," Clint offered.

"You mean that, don't you? Even though I'm pretty sure you know what _exactly_ I'm having trouble with," James said. He was so matter-of-fact about it that Clint had to do him the honor of meeting his eyes.

"I suspect. Mostly because I've been there, done that, got my heart stomped on a time or three," he said. "It fucking sucks."

James snorted, but shook his head. "It's different now. Back then… neither of us…" He let out a small sigh. "It weren't safe. I liked dames just fine, so never thought too much about it. Steve… well, really, that's not my story to tell," he said, pausing. "Would you believe that I am happy for him and Sam?"

Clint nodded. "Yeah. Doesn't mean there aren't some feelings there that haven't quite been put to rest. You just got your memories back so it's not like you've had years to heal up."

"Is that how long it takes?" James asked, brows pinched together. "I don't wanna be a damn fool for any longer than I hafta."

"I don't know, in all honesty. I've never stopped loving a single one of mine."

"Geez. You really are bad at the whole pep-talk thing aren't you?"

Clint swiped a hand down his face and ducked his head. "Sorry?" he muttered.

The funny thing was, when Clint gathered his courage to actually meet James' eyes, the guy was looking at him with a bemused expression on his face, his mouth twisting like he was fighting to hold in something.

"Go on, out with it. Not like I didn't just shove my whole leg in my mouth," Clint encouraged.

"Just, well, I was wondering. Um, who is Doctor Morse to you?"

The question was hesitant, almost shy and Clint couldn't help how fucking endearing he found it. "She's my ex," he said, nonchalant. "I told you I never let anyone go."

"Oh," James said, voice small. "You still in love with her?"

"Nah. Not like that. I love her to pieces, would give my arm for her--" Clint slapped his face. "Fuck! Forget I said that!"

But James was chuckling.

And Clint glanced at him through splayed fingers. "You're not pissed?"

"Pissed because you're a veritable genius with putting your foot in it?"

"Well, yeah."

"I kind of find it endearing," James said. "At least with you I know there ain't no filter between your brain and mouth."

"Hey!" Clint objected, but the tiny smirk and glint in James' eye made Clint blush. Hard to get mad when the guy was right. And too attractive by halves when he wore that wry little grin.

James cracked a yawn and Clint realize how late it was.

"Looks like someone needs his beauty rest," Clint said. "Um, though, really you're awfully gorgeous just as you are." His eyes widened and he pursed his lips, cheeks heating. "Can you just pretend I didn't say that?"

James shook his head and stood up. "Nope. I liked it, dollface."

Now the flush swept down Clint's neck as James winked at him. "Think if you call yourself a gentleman, you'd walk me home."

Clint scrambled to his feet and then without thinking what possessed him to do it, he held out his arm. James didn't shy away, he linked their arms together making something warm and fuzzy settle in Clint's chest. They didn't say another word as they walked, but the silence was relaxed and easy.

Clint had been too keyed up to sleep well, meaning he woke just as the sun crept above the horizon. Maybe he had hoped it was just altruism, but, really, after dreaming pretty much non-stop about James' eyes and bare chest and the way he walked and his hair… basically everything about him, it was no use denying it. He was hung up on James Buchanan Barnes. He'd fallen hard, but had no idea what to do with that realization.

James had been pretty open with him last night, but he'd just been through that memory-torture machine. There was no telling what he'd feel like after he'd had time to deal with everything that the testing had dredged up.

But Clint really didn't want to find out if James had reconsidered or regretted anything.

Instead of avoiding the man, Clint found himself at James' door. Luckily, or maybe not, he wasn't there. So Clint did the grown-up thing and went for a run alone. And no one was around to see him sulk in the clearing for nearly an hour while the sun rose high in the sky.

Of course with Clint's luck, Wanda stopped by, cornering him in his bunk before he could escape.

"Hey, jazz hands, what's cooking?" he asked, trying to seem as 'normal' as he could.

Wanda grinned and stood on her tiptoes to hug him. "From what I hear, it's tall, dark, and brooding's brain."

"Ewwww," Clint groaned. "That sounds like something only _I'd_ say."

With Wanda parked in his desk chair, Clint dropped to the bed, sprawling on his back and staring up at the ceiling. "Who'd you hear that from anyway?" he asked.

"Bobbi. Daisy knew about the machine and was more than a little freaked out about it--"

"Yeah, I can relate."

She continued, "So I asked Bobbi to let me know what was happening and when." She paused. "Um, nothing confidential. Just broad things. Mostly so I could reassure Daisy that no one was being tortured."

Clint inhaled sharply, closed his eyes. "I don't blame her. She was there to see what it did to Phil. I was pretty freaked out and I just heard about it."

The bed shifted as Wanda sat down next to Clint. "But from what Bobbi said, it went pretty well for a first test."

"Pretty well?" Clint opened his eyes to glare at Wanda. "He was begging, girlie-girl. Just because it was in Russian doesn't make it any less horrible."

She held up her hands. "I'm sorry. I didn't know."

Clint tossed his arm over his face. "Sorry for being so intense," he muttered. "All this has me on edge."

"You do seem to be taking everything personally," she said. "Is there something I should know about you and James?"

"What?" he protested and had to fight the urge to sit up and deny everything at the top of his lungs.

"You heard me."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Clint demurred.

"Sure you don't." She nudged his knee. "So how about you buy me breakfast in the cafeteria? I hear they have the best porridge."

"You just think I'll slip up and tell you something if you ply me with bacon."

Wanda chuckled. "If you aren't hiding anything, what are you worried about?"

"That's not the way it works!" But his stomach was a traitor and gurgled loudly at that moment.

"Seems unanimous to me," Wanda said, holding out a hand to Clint. "We better get you fed."

"All right," he agreed. "But we're not talking about James."

"Sure," she said.

But of course Wanda was devious and sneaky and knew how to get Clint to spill his guts. Or maybe Clint just sucked at keeping his mouth shut. So he told her everything, including his creepy stalking of James when he was frozen, eventually burying his face in her shoulder as he moaned about how far out of his league James was. She whacked him upside the head when he starting dissing himself. That, at least, got him to shut up. But not before he'd declared quite clearly his interest in James. Clint really did have shit timing.

~~*~~

Clint wasn't avoiding James. He was giving the guy space. Besides, Clint had things to do, people to chat with. Unfortunately Laura knew instantly that something had happened. She was even more devious than Wanda and had him confessing to everything in two seconds flat. Her laughter and approval felt like a gift, almost as good as chatting with Lila and Cooper.

They talked for an hour which flew by with tales of their new school, how their new friends talk funny and say the same thing about them. Even if the circumstances of the move were horrible, at least his kids were safe, happy and broadening their horizons. Or at least that's what Phil had always said about travel. Of course he had also called Budapest a 'great learning experience' instead of the actual clusterfuck it was.

Bemused, Clint stared at the blank window for a while, thoughts circling idly, like a hawk riding the updrafts, no purpose, just pleasure. He was content, or as close as he could be all things considered. He couldn't stay in Wakanda forever, so hopefully James' team had used the past couple of days to figure out where they went wrong. If Clint was tired of waiting, he couldn't imagine how James must feel.

Clint might as well have shouted his feelings to the rooftops since they were apparently secret from no one. Even Jiru knew, his eyes twinkling as Clint blushed down to his toes before grabbing a shovel and racing out of the shed. When he returned, Jiru's advice was paternal, warm, and sensible; delivered with a fond smile and a bottle "to share". Clint took the bottle gratefully but doubted he could share it with James. Not for awhile. But it just might be the perfect thing to celebrate with once James was free of the programming.

The bottle sat on Clint's dresser, a beacon of hope.

~~*~~

The second attempt went worse than the first. James' cries were less lucid, more garbled, and punctuated with ear piercing screams. Just when Clint could take no more, Joshua powered the machine down and James shuddered, voice ragged and raw as he still muttered, pleading for Steve, pleading to go home, reciting his serial number and ID.

James could barely stand, his face ashen, skin clammy as Clint helped him to stay upright and pulled his shirt on for him. When he wavered and swallowed, eyes going wide and body heaving, Clint barely got him to the trashcan before he vomited. The technician was at their side with a syringe and Clint balked until Bobbi told him it was an anti-nausea medicine, nothing more. Clint was well acquainted with Phenergan and nodded. James was too out of it to even notice the prick of the needle.

After that, Clint hovered. Instead of braving the cafeteria, he settled James in his bunk and brought food back. The meatloaf was right out of an American diner, but James stuck with the homemade soup, even managing to finish a whole bowl. His color had improved and he was less shaky, but still mostly non-verbal, only nodded when Clint suggested they watch a movie.

When James' head bobbed forward for the third time, Clint paused the movie and tucked him in. As he was about to leave, James finally spoke up. "Stay?" he asked, voice a rusty whisper.

"Of course."

~~*~~

Clint didn't really know what he was doing or why, but he acted as sentry for James' sleep, cautiously waking the soldier before his dreams could turn horrific. By the morning, Clint had fallen asleep in a chair beside James' bed, feet propped up, guarding James from the door.

"You stayed?" James asked. He was sleep rumpled, confused and blinking blearily at Clint. Clint's throat closed up and his stomach twisted as a far too familiar sensation hit him right between the eyes: he wanted to hold James, protect him, make promises that he had no hope of keeping.

He nodded, swallowing as he rubbed his eyes. "Course. You asked, didn'cha?"

"I--" James said, shoulders going tight, brow furrowing before he looked away. "Thanks."

"No problem," Clint said, standing and stretching stiff muscles. "But we have any more sleepovers and, dude, I call dibs on the bed!"

He cricked his neck and cocked his head assessing James. "How you feeling?"

"'m fine," he said eyes barely meeting Clint's before darting away.

"That doesn't sound like it. You up for coffee?"

James nodded. "I don't have anyway to pay you."

Clint snorted. "Oh? Guess I'll have to put it on your tab."

"I pay my debts, Barton."

Clint leaned over, put his hands on the bed and gave James his patented resting face glare. "It's Clint for fuck’s sake! And there ain't no debts to _be_ paid. Our host is ridiculously wealthy and funding all of this out of the goodness of his heart or from an overdeveloped sense of guilt." He huffed out a breath. "Get it through that stubborn head of yours. You're _not_ a burden, or an obligation."

James was silent, seemingly unmoved and Clint huffed out a frustrated breath. "Whatever, man. I need coffee." He turned away. "I'll bring some back," he called out before leaving James alone.

When he returned bearing caffeine and bagels, James was still in bed.

"You gonna sleep all day?" he asked, standing in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest. James kept him off balance, pushing him away one moment, reeling him in with blatant, if unspoken need.

James sat up and for the second time that day, Clint's stomach swooped and his mouth went dry. Most of James' hair had come loose and it curled around his jawline. Clint's fingers itched to touch, to push it away from his face, to see if it was as soft as it looked. He curled his hands into fists, then unwound his arms, one going to the back of his neck, the other dropping to his side. "Get up, you sloth. I come bearing the elixir of the gods."

James blinked then snorted. "You're a goof," he said, his sleepy half-smile breaking the tension in Clint.

"Yeah, yeah. You're not original, Barnes," Clint said, turning away, back to the desk and his coffee. He sprawled on the chair and let the aroma and caffeine sink into his blood so he could function, or at least fake it. He heard the shower running and debated leaving. Couldn't decide if that would be rude, dithered for too long -- he must have lost some time daydreaming -- and returned to awareness as James strolled up to the desk wearing only a fucking towel.

Clint spluttered nonsense and James just calmly sipped his coffee, unconcerned that his hair was sending rivulets of water running down a chiseled torso. Clint shuddered, dragged his eyes away, finally resting his face in his palms. "Put on some clothes, dammit," he muttered.

"Why?" James challenged, but his voice was a bit strangled, forcing Clint to look up. "You got a problem with my scars?"

James was a mixed bag at every moment, his aching vulnerability contrasting with a barely concealed steel, like even he had no idea what was going on in his head. And Clint got that, remembered needing so badly, but being terrified to accept any comfort. He'd used words as a shield, but James' voice was rusty, his words stolen for so long, he hadn't yet reclaimed them. So whatever Clint said, how he handled this moment was important, a bit too much for this early in the morning, but Clint just met James' eyes, gave himself time to answer. Gave James time to really get it.

"Course not," he answered, serious. "I've got too many of my own."

James' lips were still pressed together, arm held stiffly at his side, his face a near-blank mask, something Clint thought only Natasha could pull off so well.

"You fishing for compliments? Because, yeah, I think you're pretty, sweetheart, but it's too fucking early for me to deal," Clint said. He let James see a bit of his interest, allowed himself to open up. Not like Clint knew what the fuck he was doing, but when had he ever?

The tautness, the too-still way James had been holding himself slowly eased. He took another sip of coffee. "You think I'm pretty?"

Clint snorted. "Shut up and go get dressed. I'm sure Jiru has something you can do today."

"Sure he does. Because the one-armed guy is so useful to a gardener." And there was that snark Clint knew from Steve's stories.

"Better than lying around all day feeling sorry for yourself." Clint sucked in a sharp breath. _Shit!_

James went still, stopped breathing and Clint scrambled. "I--"

"Asshole," James said, stalking off.

Clint slapped his face. Just once he'd like to have a conversation with James without his mouth tossing out landmines like candy at a parade.

James gave Clint the silent treatment for the walk to Jiru's shed, but even grumpy cat Barnes melted in the face of Jiru's smile and paternal wisdom. Clint sat back and enjoyed the scene, his insides relaxing as James gradually seemed to settle into his skin. Jiru had accomplished what none of the scientists, doctors, or myriad attendants could: made James feel truly welcome. But then that was Jiru's super power.

Thankfully, Jiru kept them both busy and often not together, which was for the best because Clint couldn't say something stupid or rude or piss James off if they weren't close enough for conversation. The days passed quickly with the nights containing far too much of James' skin in Clint's dreams. The first time he laid eyes on James the next day after a night of overwhelmingly erotic dreams was always awkward. On Clint's part. James just believed Clint to be particularly bad at mornings. Which was also true.

They'd settled into a routine, easier and more steady each day so it threw Clint for a loop when he woke to a summons to the lab.

He raced to get ready, grabbed coffee and stopped to pick up James, but there was no answer. Clint's gut roiled. He was not ready to see James go back in the machine A selfish part of him didn't want James to ever go back in the machine. What if removing what Hydra had done to him stole other things? His time here in Wakanda? Clint?

Pelting down the corridors, Clint arrived breathless and skidding around the door, all heads turning to look at him with confusion.

"Clint?" James was the first to speak.

Panting, words stuck in his throat, Clint silently held out a cup of coffee for James.

N'lix intervened. "He needs to fast before the procedure, Agent Barton."

Clint looked to Joshua and Bobbi who were both nodding. "We believe it is for the best," Joshua explained.

"Sorry. Sorry. I just-- We had a routine." 

James snorted, then mouthed, _Thanks,_ before casually tugging off his tee as he sat docilely and let the technician wire him up.

Clint sighed and backed into his usual spot, out of the way and unhelpful. He was so lost in thought he didn't notice Bobbi's presence until she elbowed him.

"Where'd you go, Birdbrain?"

"To a galaxy far, far away, Birdie."

She chuckled, then turned serious. "I think we've got it right this time, Clint. He'll be right as rain."

He couldn't look at her, was afraid to see the lie in her eyes. His throat thick, he ducked his head. "I hope so. He's been through so much, he doesn't deserve any of this."

"Clint." She nudged him again. "Look at me."

He didn't want to, but he'd never been able to deny her anything. It hadn't helped their marriage, but it had helped them rebuild their friendship. "Yeah?"

"You really care for him, don't you?"

"I don't know. I just know that I'd want someone on my side if I'd been through what he was."

"You had someone, right? You had Natasha."

Clint swallowed, but he dredged up a smirk even if his heart wasn't in it. "Nat's interpretation of support is very loose."

Bobbi shook her head, but then she hugged him. Hard. Until he was worried about broken ribs and breathing.

When he squawked, she pulled away with a mischievous grin. He was so glad to see that smile again. There'd been a few times when he was worried she'd never manage it. If that douchebag Ward wasn't dead, Clint would have taken him out himself, no matter that Phil never wanted Clint anywhere near his SHIELD problems. He thought it was a misguided attempt to protect Clint and Bobbi was more than capable of taking care of herself. But Clint was always going to be protective of her.

"Are you ready, Doctor Morse?" N'lix asked breaking Clint from his musings.

"Of course," she answered; gave Clint's arm a pat then joined in helping them start.

Clint wanted to intervene, stop everything, grab Bucky's hand and run away to somewhere. He had no idea where they could go, but something told him this time wasn't going to be better than the last two.

He was right.

It was far, far worse.

When even powering off the machine couldn't get James to return from wherever his tortured mind had sent him, Clint began to panic until he was shoved out of the room and the door slammed in his face.

He could do nothing but pace and mutter and try to hold onto the little he had in his stomach while worrying himself sick.

After four eternities and thousands of worst case scenarios had flickered through Clint's thoughts, Bobbi opened the door. She was pale and sorrowful and Clint forgot how to breathe.

"Is he--" he stopped, couldn't finish the question.

"He's sedated," she said, pointing to the hospital bed where James lay looking far too fragile and vulnerable. What kind of monster could brutalize such a beautiful, scarred young man?

Clint took his right hand, fixed his eyes to James' slowly rising chest. "What in the hell happened?" he muttered, eyes unmoving from James.

"We almost succeeded," Joshua answered.

Clint grimaced. "I don't think a success includes killing the patient."

"No," Joshua agreed, voice quiet and apologetic. "But we did reach the beginning of Sergeant Barnes' programming. Unfortunately, the depth and intensity of the waves created feedback--"

"Feedback? Is that what you call nearly frying his mind?"

"Clint," Bobbi scolded from over his shoulder.

He glanced up at her, then back to James. "I'm not gonna apologize. The point of this is to fix him, not kill him!"

He shrugged off Bobbi's palm from his shoulder. "We want that, too."

"We have better data than ever," Joshua said. "I think next--"

"You think?!?!" Clint pointed a finger at Joshua. "That's not good enough, Doc. You have to be certain. If there even is a next time."

"That is for Sergeant Barnes to decide."

"Maybe so. He might carry a lot of guilt, but he doesn't have a death wish."

"Clint."

"No, Doctor Morse. Agent Barton is quite right. We can do better. We have to." Joshua looked at Clint. "I give you my word that we will not attempt this again until we are certain."

"But--" N'lix tried to interject, except he was silenced by Joshua holding up a hand.

"Thanks, Doc."

"Thank _you,_ Agent Barton, for keeping us focused on what is most important," Joshua said. "We will leave you here for now. I'll send M'yra in to check on Sergeant Barnes later."

Clint nodded absently, didn't look up as they left; the silence in their wake stifling.

~~*~~

Clint rubbed his eyes, debated more coffee, but reconsidered after glancing at the clock. He was pretty sure it was three in the morning and not three in the afternoon, but, then he'd kind of lost track of time and could be turned one-eighty. Between the slight groggy jitters from too-much caffeine and too-little sleep, the way his stomach rumbled and the pull of sleep, Clint was lost in thought and caught unawares when James stirred.

Startled, Clint grabbed the watery ice chips and waited for James to open his eyes. He did, slowly, cautiously, wary and tense.

"You're safe, James," Clint said, voice croaking. "Shit. Sorry." He grabbed his cup, took a swallow of cold coffee. "Um, yeah, so you can open your eyes. It's just me here. Um, that's Clint, yeah?"

James licked his lips and slitted his eyes open. Clint waved the cup in his line of sight. "You gotta be pretty dry. Want some of these? They can't be beat. Best ice chips _ever._ "

James rolled his eyes, but opened his mouth dutifully.

"You gotta stop pulling this shit, Barnes," Clint scolded playfully. "I mean, I'm all about service and shit, but now I'm pretty sure you're just doing this to get my attention."

He grinned. "You got it. My undivided attention. And they don't call me Hawkeye for nothing."

James just gazed at Hawkeye thoughtfully, his blue eyes gray in the dim light. "What the hell happened?" he asked, voice rusty and weak.

Clint shifted, eyes ducking away before he sighed and sagged. "What do you remember?"

James groaned, then shifted on the bed, making Clint jump up to help him. He tilted the head of the bed up, fluffed pillows, made a nuisance of himself until James grabbed his arm, grip still surprisingly strong. "Clint. Stop."

Swallowing Clint stopped and plopped into his chair. "Sorry."

"Will you fucking stop?"

"Um, so--"

"Goddammit!" James cut him off with a harsh growl, making Clint flinch inside. It'd been a long time, but a small part of Clint still wanted to hide when someone was mad at him. 

"It's not your fault. None of this is. It's not the king's fault. Or Steve's. So just stop with the fucking apologies!" James' voice was rough and wrecked by the end. He threw his head back, hissing.

Clint cut off the apology that was on his lips, instead offered the large insulated cup of cold water. He kept his eyes down, had no desire to see James angry.

"Jesus!" James swore. "Can you at least look at me?"

Clint did, fought to keep his face a placid mask.

"What is it with you blond punks and feeling like you owe the world fucking everything?"

Clint just blinked, wasn't exactly sure what James was getting at. Did he compare Clint to Cap again? He was about to object, but James thrust the cup at him and shook his head before sagging back into the bed, eyes closed.

"I'm sorry, Clint. You just remind me a whole lotta Stevie." He sighed quietly. "And I feel like a fucking tank ran over me. Let all that shit go and just tell me what happened. Please?"

"It was bad."

"Understatement of the century. I think I get that since I'm here, feel like I went a few rounds with the big green guy, and I don't really remember shit." He paused. "No. That's not true. I remember you showing up late with two cups of coffee." He snorted, eyes opening, a hint of amusement in them.

Clint scratched his neck. "I'm not the expert, but you've been out for seventy-two hours."

James inhaled sharply.

Nodding, Clint continued. "Bobbi explained what they think happened. They're pretty sure they dropped you back to when the Russians found you near dead. Something about being there. It's like… Well, the way they told me is that your body reacted the same as it did then. They couldn't pull you back." Here Clint swallowed, remembering every sensor blaring, the chaos and terror. "You flat-lined," he finally forced out, voice flat.

His eyes lingered on the steady rise and fall of James' chest.

"Hey, hey, Clint!" James called and Clint dragged his eyes up to meet James'. "I'm fine."

"Not fine." Clint inhaled sharply and shook his head before he exhaled. "You don't have to go in that thing again. Next time it'll probably finish what it couldn't last time."

"I'm harder than that to get rid of."

"Don't. This isn't a joke."

James sighed, a barely audible puff of air. "You think I don't know the stakes?" He pursed his lips, flicked his eyes to Clint, then away. "But I'm _dangerous._ And I'm not stopping until I'm fixed!"

The brief outburst surprised both of them, but Clint ignored it. "Or dead."

"What?" James asked.

Clint glared at him, eyes and voice cold. "You're not stopping until you're fixed or you're dead. Isn't that really what you meant to say?"

"I don't have a goddamned deathwish, Clint!" 

"Could have fucking fooled me!"

"You bastard! Don't you see that I'm doing this for you?"

"For me?" Clint saw red. "I never asked you to do this! I don't want you to! I warned you! What the fuck?"

"For you. For Laura and your kids."

James blinked, mouth slightly agape, eyes wide as Clint just stared at him, the room silent.

When Clint recovered from the shock, he asked, "How do you know about my family?" His voice low. Hard. His mind freaking out as fear swamped him.

James frowned. "You told me?" he said, but it was clear he was unsure.

Clint shook his head. "Nope. Never."

"I--" The furrows in James' brow deepened. "Are you sure? I swear I can still hear it in your voice. You were worried, I think." He cocked his head, almost like he was listening to something. "Lila and Cooper shouldn't have to grow up as fugitives." He looked up at Clint, certain.

Clint swallowed, heart stopping. "Are you sure?"

James nodded.

"I-I," Clint licked his lips, mind racing. What else had he confessed to James? "I-I, that is, I told you that when you were in cryo."

And the awkward silence descended again, neither of them willing to meet the other's eyes. Finally, Clint gave up. "I should go, let you sleep. The doc'll be by and M'yra, of course."

"Of course," James said, quiet and probably freaking out.

Clint darted out the door, hurrying to escape the medical complex for the serenity of the trees.

~~*~~

"What're you hidin' from, Clinton?"

Jiru's presence startled Clint out of the endless loop he'd been pondering.

Clint didn't even question how the other man knew he was hiding from something. Some spy Clint was.

Jiru joined him on the carved tree, pressing his palm to Clint's bouncing knee. "Tell me or not, it is your choice. But whatever catastrophe you think you've caused will right itself soon enough." He grinned, then crossed his arms over his chest, rocking back just a little to pin Clint with an amused eye.

Clint snorted. "This is only an _inter-personal_ catastrophe."

"Ah, the good Sergeant," Jiru used. "You revealed your feelings and he was not yet ready to hear them?"

"What?" Clint spluttered. "No!" he objected "It's not like that," he shook his head "Not for him."

"Of course not. He is the stuff of legends and you are merely a superhero. Whatever could you have in common?"

"Now you're just being a smartass," Clint said, though a smile did try to creep up on his lips.

"Maybe so. But I do know something for what ails you."

Clint raised his hands. "Nope. I'm out. The last thing I need is your moonshine." He kept shaking his head. "I'd get all mopey and probably _cry._ "

"Then it is a good thing I was not about to suggest you imbibe."

Caught off-guard, Clint simply blurted out, "What?"

Jiru pushed at Clint's shoulder, urging him to stand. "Help an old man up."

Clint stood, a bemused expression on his face as he held out his hand "You need less help than I do," he chuckled. "Old man, my ass."

"Whether or not that is true, I requested your help and you willingly provided it. It is what you do."

Clint shrugged, stuck his hands in his pockets. "So?"

"So, whatever you have done, or think you have done, I suspect it is nothing but an outgrowth of your need to help. And I am certain that Sergeant Barnes understands that better than you."

"I don't know…"

"Well, the best course of action is tackling the problem head on. I should not have to tell you that. So, go, and make things right between you and your friend."

"He probably thinks I'm the creepiest creeper to ever have lived."

Jiru smiled, amused and fond. "I sincerely doubt that but you will never know if you insist on hiding."

Clint fidgeted, barely maintained a loose, easy posture in the face of feeling like a chastised school kid. "'m not hiding."

"You are one of the bravest men I have ever met. You can do it," Jiru urged. 

And, really? At this point what did Clint have to lose?

"Fine."

"Good," Jiru patted him on the back and pointed him toward James.

~~*~~

Of course, Clint didn't go straight to James. He detoured through a shower, dinner, and a long conversation with Laura, in which she called him an idiot more than once, though it was with a fond smile on her face. He was able to spend some time helping Cooper with his homework and listening as Lila told him everything there was to know about her new teacher and new friends. The call ended too soon, leaving him aching. He'd become an observer in their lives, a passive guest watching from the sidelines. He was missing everything with no ETA for that to change. He sighed and slumped forward, rested his head on his arms, feeling more miserable than ever.

Even leaving a snarky voice mail on Natasha's phone didn't cheer him up. Her missing presence was another hole in his life.

Angry and sad, he surfed the web, found a backdoor into an old Polish contact's website. From there, he bounced through a few VPNs and a few more IP addresses until he jumped off into the dark web and an anonymous email server. The email he sent to one Anthony Stark was not anonymous even if there was no way Stark could track him back here. But, just in case, he erased his tracks, threw up a few false trails, running in circles until he'd lost the thread himself.

Steve might be willing to forgive Stark everything, could promise him that they'd come when he called, but as long as Clint was a fugitive, cut off from his family, he wasn't about to help Stark with a damn thing. And it felt good to tell him that.

When even his meager laundry was washed and put away and his bunk as clean as he could make it, he sat back with arms crossed searching for something else to distract him. The sun had long since set and Clint was out of delaying tactics. But maybe it was late enough James would be asleep?

M'yra rolled her eyes at him as he slunk passed the centralized nurses' desk, but she waved him on by, humor in her eyes. James' door was cracked open and Clint waited, listening, before taking a deep breath and silently entering. His feelings were mixed, relief and regret tumbling together as he stared at the empty bed. Just when he'd gotten his courage up.

"Hey, punk. Decided to come back to explain yourself?"

Clint would never admit to jumping when James snuck up on him, but his heart was thundering in his chest and it took him a minute to reply. "Ass!" he said without heat.

And then Clint noticed that James was, once again, fresh from the shower, all that dewy skin on display, tendrils of wet hair sending rivulets running down, down, down…

Clint jerked his eyes up, only to be confronted with James' eyes, a storm-tossed blue smirking at him. "At least I have pants on," he said.

Clint swallowed. "I'm going to put a bell on you, dammit! How in the hell are you as quiet as Nat?"

James leaned close, his breath brushing Clint's cheek and Clint swallowed again, his lungs trying to give up the ghost. "We were taught the same technique by the same masters."

Clint's mind went offline just a little bit. Technique shouldn't have him thinking about James' skill in bed. It sure as hell wasn't appropriate considering the conversation they needed to have. Swiping a palm down his face, Clint dropped into the chair beside James' bed. "Can we talk?" he asked, and very pointedly did not watch James dry his torso or marvel at how quickly he managed to tug on a t-shirt with only one arm.

"Here?"

Clint looked around, confused. "Where else?"

James chuckled. "I've been released. I can go back to my quarters, such as they are. But they do offer privacy."

"Oh!" Clint stood quickly. "Yes! Yeah," he added.

"You need to be cool, man. All that tension, you're going to give yourself an aneurysm or something."

They walked out together and M'yra grinned at Clint behind James' back, her thumbs up nearly making him snort out loud.

"What?" James asked, suspicious.

"Uh, nothing!" Clint replied. Really? Wasn't he supposed to be an elite spy?

"I thought maybe we could make a detour by my bunk."

James shrugged. "Sure."

So they ended up in James' small quarters, sitting on the tiny sofa passing Jiru's moonshine back and forth, the conversation easy because it was about nothing that mattered: pop culture, music, movies, fashion.

Probably an hour later and Clint was listing to the side, his eyes tracing the sharp line of James' jaw. "You're real pretty, James," he sighed. "Sorry about being a creeper."

"A creeper," James frowned at Clint, but he seemed to be a lot more upright than Clint. "You say the weirdest things. I owe you an apology. I should have been more cautious with the knowledge concerning your family. I'm sorry, Clint."

James was frowning, his eyes sad and Clint couldn't have that. Didn't want that. He shook his head. "Not your fault. That was all on me, running my mouth at you, dumping all my problems on the one guy who had worse problems than I ever thought about having. It was shitty of me. I just started and it helped, so I never stopped."

Clint tilted more until his head was resting on James' right shoulder. "You probably heard a lot of shit, um, I really am sorry. Should have talked to a therapist, probably."

When James didn't say anything Clint risked a glance up at him. James was looking at him, a confused frown marring his features.

It took Clint a bit to put two and two together. When he did, he jerked upright. "Shit! Sorry!"

"Stop apologizing."

"Um--"

"I didn't mean for you to move your head, either. It's not like I've had a lot of people touch me over the years, not… well, you know what I mean," he said, voice faltering. "I don't mind Clint," he said. "I like it."

"Oh!" Clint grinned, probably too wide and goofy, but he couldn't help it as he settled back against James' shoulder. "Okay, I can do that."

"I noticed," James said, dry as the desert, but Clint heard the hint of a smile in his words.

"So, we okay?"

"If you are."

"Me? I'm the one in the wrong here."

"Idiot," James said, under his breath, but Clint was close enough to hear.

"My life had fallen to shit and I needed a friend, someone who knew what I'd been through."

"I don't get how that's me," James disagreed.

Clint shrugged, eyes downcast. "I just relate to what happened to you. Under Loki's thrall I nearly took down the Helicarrier. Killed friends and co-workers, would have taken the whole thing out if Tash hadn't stopped me."

He took a little breath, finally noticed that James was tense beside him. "Like Steve stopping me," he breathed.

"Yeah, just like."

"How did you deal with it?"

"I gave myself up. Let SHIELD run every test they could think of," he said, voice gone rusty. "I did my penance in the city, working cleanup crews, the more back-breaking the work, the longer I stayed on site." He licked his lips to wet them, grabbed the bottle and took a short sip that burned all the way to his toes. "Didn't think I would ever stop having nightmares, but even they slowed."

"So why're you here? Why did you come when Steve called?"

Clint bristled. "I'm here because Steve was right. Tony was wrong. Ross had an agenda, that guy is power mad, and I owed Wanda. I couldn't let them lock her up for _saving_ lives, dammit!" He sat up, probably a bit fast, because the room tilted briefly before righting itself. "And if you were 'shoot on sight', what was I?"

"Clint, I was built to kill."

He glared at James. "And you think I wasn't?" He shook his head. "I took out more for Loki than you did in your entire career. Don't give me that shit."

"Whatever. You're not in danger of being turned into a 'murder bot'. _I_ am."

"So that's what this is all about? You think you deserve to be punished?"

James shifted, turning to face Clint more fully. His eyes were cold and dark. "Don't I?"

"No! You are a victim, dammit!" Clint hissed. "You don't have to do this. That machine will probably kill you next time!"

"Then the nightmare will be over."

"So you have a death wish now?" Clint's tone was snide, mean. Underneath, he was terrified.

"No. Unlike you," James countered, "I have super serum in my blood, remember?"

"It doesn't matter what's in your blood when you go into that machine. It's gotten worse every time."

"Either it works or I go back into cryo," James said. "There's no in between."

"What?" Clint gasped. "Why?"

"You haven't been listening," James said, everything softening. "I heard you. I know what kind of life you've given up to be here. I'm not worth that. And either it works next time or I go back under. I'm not going to be the reason you don't see your kids grow up."

Clint rubbed his chest which had this strange numb feeling settling in it.

"What about Steve?" he asked, weakly.

"Steve has Sam and he doesn't need to be burdened with me," James said, a calmness to his tone that had Clint quietly freaking out. "What good is a one-armed ex-assassin, even if they get the programming out of me?"

Clint sagged. "They've built you an arm, asshole."

"Well, let's hope I get to use it." James lifted the bottle and took a large swallow, Clint echoing the sentiment.

Clint woke and wished he hadn't. He was scrunched up on James' sofa, blanket tossed over him. Luckily it was dark when he cracked one eye, but even the few LEDs scattered around the room felt like ice picks jamming into his brain. He moaned and shifted, regretting the movement immediately as his stomach rebelled.

"Oh, god!" he swore, but he made it to the bathroom in time.

"Fuck it," he muttered after staggering back to the sofa. It was only as he was trying to fit himself back into the small space that he noticed the glass of water and bottle of acetaminophen on the coffee table. Whispering his thanks to James, he downed a couple of the pills and half the water before determinedly going back to sleep.

Later, much later, from a glance at the clock on the wall, he felt better, less hungover, not yet human, but he was at least certain death was no longer imminent. He peeked into James' bedroom to check on him, blinking his surprise at the empty, tidy bed.

"Huh."

Clint was in no frame of mind to contemplate what it meant that James had left him here in his space unattended. That seemed like a large demonstration of trust but it could just be that James didn't have anything he considered 'his' here. And even thinking about that was more that Clint was capable of at the moment.

He found a scrap of paper and a stubby pencil to leave James a note then left for his room and a shower, and, possibly, food.

He really did need to learn to respect Jiru's moonshine. That shit was deadly.

~~*~~

It was only after Clint had showered and eaten and worked through most of the remnants of the hangover that the conversation from last night came back to him.

 _Either it works or I go back into cryo_ James had said and he'd been determined, seemingly more stubborn about it than even Steve Rogers could be about a thing.

He tried to imagine what came after. With James back in cryo and all of them still fugitives, they really shouldn't stay in Wakanda. It wasn't fair to the king or his people. But Clint couldn't endanger Laura and the kids. What was left for him?

That numb feeling was back, eating into his chest and accompanied by worry gnawing at his gut. Throat closing up, he came to the what should probably be an obvious realization, but he didn't want James to go back into cryo. He didn't want him to go back into that damned murder-memory machine, either! But James was bound and determined, and what right did Clint have to stop him?

Clint was no one. No matter if he wanted to be someone.

A run didn't help the growing itch along his spine, shooting for hours didn't help, even climbing to the roof and staring at the stars as they came out did nothing but made it clear how small and utterly useless Clint was in the grand scheme of things.

When he felt his breath catch for the third time in the last few minutes, he scrambled down, sought peace in the clearing, moonlit and quiet, but only found himself pacing, thoughts fleeing faster than his arrows.

He phoned Phil, but even his steadiness couldn't alleviate the catch in Clint's throat, the way his skin felt too tight, or the fear corroding his spine. Laura's smile quickly fled, turning into worry and Clint hated making her fret, but he owed her an explanation, though he didn't give her one that made much sense. Despite that, she told him she trusted him, knew he'd do the right thing.

Clint didn't think he knew what the right thing was anymore. He'd done that when Steve had called and look where he'd ended up. Look where they'd all ended up.

He was dialing without thought. Natasha didn't answer and he ended up babbling to her on voicemail, caught between sad and relieved that she was safely removed from all of this mess even if he could really use some of her tough insight right at this very moment. In reality, she'd probably laugh her ass off at him.

His email pinged. It was from Phil sending Steve's contact information and Clint didn't think, just called.

"Rogers," Steve answered, and he sounded disoriented, sleep-deprived. "Who is this?"

"Hey, Steve. It's Clint."

"Clint?" he said. "Everything okay?" and his voice sharpened. The guy must wake on a dime.

"Um, I don't know where you are or anything, so I'm sorry if I woke you--"

"Don't worry about it. Has something happened?" he asked. "Is everyone safe? Wanda? You? Bucky?"

"We're--" He shouldn't lie. What had he called for anyway? "Wanda and I are just fine. But I'm worried about James."

"James," Steve repeated, voice hesitant, like the name was foreign. "What's wrong?"

"I-- I don't think he should undergo the procedure again," Clint said, all in a rush. "I think it'll kill him."

"What?"

"They've been experimenting… and it's getting worse… and either it works or he goes back in cryo."

"Who's making him?" Clint could hear Steve's righteous ire all the way around the world.

"Only him," Clint answered, probably cryptically. "That's not the problem. It's the procedure! It's dangerous! Each time it's worse. I'm not sure if he hopes it'll kill him or if he wants to go back under. Either way, it's wrong-headed, stupid, and I don't know how to get through to him! But you can!"

Clint probably should have taken a few breaths instead of rasping all of that out at once because Steve went silent on the other end of the phone.

"Steve?"

"I think you need to start at the beginning."

And that was an order that Clint could follow. Somehow telling Steve everything, explaining how he didn't think James was broken, so didn't need to be fixed helped calm Clint's racing pulse and eased the knot in his gut. Maybe handing the problem to Steve was a bit of a cop out, but at least he knew that Steve cared about James more than pretty much anyone else and he wouldn't let James do something stupid.

"I'll do what I can, Clint, but you're there. You're going to have to keep Buck out of that machine."

"Me?"

"As if sabotage is hard for a spy," Steve sounded like he might even be smiling.

"Hey! Bobbi's worked hard on that thing! She'll disembowel me if I so much as _think_ about doing something to it!"

"So think of something, soldier," Steve said in his clearly patented Captain America voice, which was really unfair.

Despite that, when they hung up, Clint felt better. Nothing had really changed, but at least he had his 'orders', vague as they were...

~~*~~

In true Clint fashion, he tried for subtle, but ended up sprawled out flat on his face in front of the whole world. When he casually asked Bobbi for an ETA for the next test, she gave him an eyeroll and shoved him out of the lab. N'lix and Joshua were far more polite, but no less forthcoming. The techs went wide-eyed and stuttered out apologies, a clever ruse to tell him nothing.

 _This_ was why Clint was a sniper and Natasha did the up-close intel gathering.

"Clint?" James spun around, practically growling at him.

Clint pulled up short, blinking, mouth slightly open. "What?"

"You've been following me around for days. What is your problem? I'm an assassin, not a thief, dammit!"

Well, hell, how was Clint supposed to answer that? He rubbed the back of his neck and shrugged. "Um, just wondering if you needed anything?"

"You couldn't fuckin' ask?"

"You're not exactly real good with your words."

"That's rich coming from you," James said, voice low and snide.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"It means exactly what it sounds like!" James said, huffing with frustration, advancing on Clint. "Jesus, Mary, and Joseph! I do not need a fucking babysitter. I _can_ walk and even chew gum while doing it, dammit!"

Clint flinched, then caught himself. What was he supposed to do in the face of James' legit anger? "Um, sorry?"

Clint swallowed. He had no idea James' eyes could get that dark, or that even his eyebrows could frown. Now he knew exactly what they meant when he read about eyebrows knitted together.

One finger poked him right in the sternum. It stung. "Lookit, Barton--"

"Clint--"

"What?" James blinked, thrown off, but before Clint could capitalize on the moment, James continued. "I don't know what's in it for you to trail after me like a lost puppy, but I don't need your pity or guilt or whatever you got going on."

"Hey! I'm not doing this for my fucking health!" Clint protested, sweeping James' hand away from him. "It's the right thing to do! I told you!"

"Everyone has an ulterior motive. The king thinks that fixing me will fix what happened. Stevie feels like he owes me a debt _and_ the idiot blames himself for my fall." James regarded him with eyes gone steely, but they were relaxed around the edges, his mouth softer, shoulders easing. "But you make no sense. You shouldn't have even come when Steve called. So what's your deal? Atonement? Self-flagellation? I don't get you."

"Self--?" Clint went still, almost forgot to breathe for an instant, then he inhaled sharply. "Oh, fuck you very much, asshole! I'm doing what's right whether you want it or not!"

He clenched his jaw and swallowed the shit that wanted to come blurting out. For once he managed to shut up and walk away. Not like he hadn't already made things worse.

~~*~~

Cliint's alarm went off ridiculously early and he would have shut it off and gone back to sleep, but he had a plan. And it was a good plan. He hoped it was, anyway. Even if it wasn't, he didn't have any other ideas and he had to fix the uncomfortable tension between him and James.

He dragged himself out of bed, threw on sweats, trainers, and a loose muscle tee, leaving without bothering to straighten his hair. And somehow he timed it perfectly.

As James was opening his door for his morning run, Clint was conveniently outside his door, bent over in a stretch. "Hey!" he murmured from where he was gripping his knees. "Forgot to stretch enough," he explained.

Instead of bolting, James leaned against the door frame, head cocked, and was that a smirk?

"Can we just forget all that shit and maybe just, I don't know keep each other company?" Clint asked as he shifted stances. "Not like my dance card's full, what about yours?" He gave James a hopeful smile.

"You go right ahead," James said, made little flicking motion with his fingers. When Clint looked puzzled, he continued, "Super soldier, remember?"

"Asshole," Clint said but kept stretching, more than he needed to and most of them were ridiculously ineffective, but they did highlight his ass and biceps. And he was pretty certain James was paying careful attention so win-win.

Of course that was until Clint actually went running with the guy.

His brilliant plan was going to kill him.

Clint stopped, bent over, panting, gasping for air. When he could eke out enough air to form words, he waved James off. "Go on! Save yourself! Leave me for the vultures!"

He glanced up to see James stalking back toward him and if he hadn't already been breathless _that_ picture would have done it. Shirtless, sweaty, loose sweats clinging to a jut of hips…

"Seriously, man, if I don't get a break, you're going to have to carry my sorry ass back and I don't think that'll be too easy for you right now."

James got this complicated expression on his face and the next thing Clint knew, he was lifted over James' right shoulder. And what the hell? He squawked and complained until James said, "Shush, or I'll drop you."

"Put me down, dammit!"

James did. "Just showing you that I can carry you, dollface," he said, then took off running.

And what the hell was Clint supposed to do with that?

Clint's grand plan had been to carefully draw James' attention to him and then focus it on all the wonderful things that made life worth living. They ran together, ate together, watched baseball games (thanks, Phil!), he even dragged James in to arbitrate an argument between Cooper and Lila about banana candy. And he managed it all without once putting even so much as his toe in his mouth. _Way to go, Hawkeye!_

His plans blew up his face when Bobbi caught him walking back to his room after watching the Cubs win a double-header.

"Tomorrow?" Clint looked at her, and shook his head. "You can't."

"We're ready. There's no sense keeping Sergeant Barnes waiting any longer."

"But--"

Bobbi stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. "I know you've come to care for James, but this is what he wants."

"How do you know it won't kill him this time?" He managed to keep his voice mostly civil. Barely.

"Clint, we wouldn't--"

"That's what you said before."

Bobbi pursed her lips and shook her head. "I'm not going to argue this with you," she said, walking away. She stopped after few steps. "Please try to come."

Then she was gone and Clint was swearing.

Now what was he supposed do?

~~*~~

Well, Clint's luck had to give out at some point along the way and, of course, it would be this day. He forgot to plug in his phone so it had died at some point while he was dreaming of James' chiseled muscles and that little dimple in his chin, the way his voice got low and raspy when he'd been yelling at the game along with Clint for hours. Clint raced out of his room, holding his boots, skidding around the corner and sliding into the lab on sock-clad feet, only to slam into an over six-foot slab of muscle, dropping Clint flat on his ass.

He looked up to see Steve holding out a hand and Sam smirking at him. "Quite an entrance, Arrowguy," he said, but the smirk turned into that gap-toothed smile and Clint couldn't exactly stay mad at either of them. He thought it was genetically impossible, really.

"Falcon," Clint said, trying to sound like he'd planned everything. He shook Sam's hand after Steve's and then looked around.

"Phil?!?!"

"Barton," Phil said. "Aren't you forgetting something?" he asked and cut his eyes to the floor. The floor where Clint was standing in socks, his boots nowhere near him after his oh-so-graceful fall.

"Um," he started. "What are you doing here?"

"You called."

Whatever Clint had done somewhere along the way to deserve Phil's utter belief in him, he was so damned grateful. "Thanks."

"I think we can get the party started now," a voice said and Clint would know that voice anywhere.

"Natasha?"

She stepped out from behind Bobbi, as did Wanda. "Wanda? Wow. Is everyone here?" He gaped.

"Seemed like the right thing to do," Steve said and for the first time Clint noticed James. He'd been surrounded before, but now, with just Steve standing next to him, all those wires and sensors stuck everywhere, he looked smaller than ever. Vulnerable.

"James?" Clint took a step forward, then stopped. Steve was here now. James didn't need him at his side. He had his best friend back.

But James looked up at him with eyes washed out to a faded denim blue. "Glad you made it, birdbrain," James said and his lips curled up slightly.

"Wouldn't miss it," he answered. "Um, I'll just be--" He stopped speaking, looked at everyone. "I'll be over here, out of the way."

James swallowed, pursed his lips, then nodded. Clint thought he was about to say something, but probably not to him.

He did find himself standing between Natasha and Wanda, had to hug them both, squeezing a bit too hard, holding a bit too long. Phil joined them, his face saying everything as he handed Clint his boots.

Sam walked over, bumped shoulders with Wanda and, after a few awkward seconds, he and Natasha hugged. Clint breathed a sigh of relief. At least his team-as-family was all back in one piece. Stark be damned.

"What's gonna happen?" Sam asked in a gruff whisper.

Clint frowned. He really didn't want to talk about it. He glanced at Phil, hoping for some help, but Phil was resolutely not looking at the machine. Luckily for them both, Bobbi came over and explained it to them all. The technobabble turned into background noise as they settled James onto the table and began strapping him in. He didn't remember an IV drip before, but then he'd been so focused on James that all the rest of the shit hadn't really registered.

With his gut twisting, he didn't even notice as the people around him shifted. But suddenly he had Phil at his left shoulder, his presence warm and reassuring. Then Natasha took his right hand and he had to blink hard to fight the urge to cry. Fuck. He'd missed her.

N'lix said, "Let's proceed. On my mark--" and Clint forgot to breathe.

~~*~~

Clint would be lying if he said that the silent screams were the worst of it, but they freaked him out worse than the begging in Russian. He feared that his knees were going to give out or more probably his ability to stand as a mere observer while Steve held James' hand calling him back from the brink with stories and promises and encouragement. But he stood, watching, heart bleeding for the pain on display. 

When the monitors began shrieking for a third time, it took both Phil and Natasha to hold him back.

The moment Steve looked up and met Clint's eyes, Clint joined him without being asked, his hands helping to hold James steady so that he wouldn't hurt himself further. "Thanks," Steve muttered, voice shattered.

"Shit!" Joshua swore and James arched, blood staining his teeth as he screamed and the restraints across his legs splitting in two. Clint dove on top of him, used himself as a restraint.

"Stop it! Dammit, you're killing him!" he shouted at everyone.

"No!" James screamed. And in all honesty Clint had no idea if he was screaming at Clint's suggestion or whatever horror he was being forced to relive, but he heard tearing and the restraint across James' chest began to give way.

Steve was there, holding James down, trying to soothe and Clint was trying not to hurt James as he bucked and twisted.

"No. No! NO!" James screamed as every monitor began shrieking, the sound louder and higher until Clint thought his ear drums would rupture and still James fought, voice broken and raw from the tortured sounds coming from his throat. If Clint could have moved, he would have ripped the power from the machine, torn it all down, but he had to keep James safe, or as safe as he could. The alarms and panicked shouts turned to one large howling cry and then there was what sounded like a gunshot from under the machine forcing Clint to slam closer to James, pressing him down to shield him with Clint's body.

Then everything went silent, the smell of burnt wires caustic in Clint's nose. Clint wondered if he'd been too close to the shot and was momentarily deafened. Then he realized that James was no longer fighting. Or screaming.

Or moving.

"Is he breathing?" he asked, voice a terrified, hoarse rasp.

Steve tugged him off James as Bobbi, Joshua, and the rest moved in, surrounding James and shoving Clint out of the way. He was no longer needed. Especially if they'd killed James, he thought, acrid fear eating at his gut.

Clint balked as more machines came out, this one he recognized: a defibrillator. But with Steve slightly in front of him and Phil gripping tightly to his hand, Clint couldn't move. He needed to watch, to _see._ But the tech ushered them out, her face pale and eyes wide as she slammed the door in his face and turned the large window opaque. Clint blinked, stood staring at the closed door, mind gone blank.

"C'mon, Clint, you need to sit down before you fall down," Phil murmured near his ear. And he allowed himself to be moved, their group walking in stunned silence to a quiet zone, a peaceful area filled with windows and the sounds of gentle rainfall. He knew it was meant to soothe worried friends and family, but all Clint heard in his head were James' screams. Nothing could blot them out.

Nothing until Wanda knelt in front of Clint, pressed cool palms to his cheeks, and frowned at him with her brown eyes wide. "Hey, old man," she said, tone teasing. "That place you're stuck in? You need to let it go. Whatever happens, whatever has happened, this is not on you."

"But--" he began to protest. She silenced him with a gentle shake of her head.

"James made his choice. Something denied to him for too long. Please do not dishonor that."

Steve stepped up behind Wanda -- Clint knew it was Steve by his stupid khakis -- placed a large hand on her shoulder. Clint's eyes followed Wanda's until he was looking into Steve's face. "It's good advice, Clint. Same thing Peggy told me after--after the train. Seems like we're lucky to have such smart ladies to keep us in line." He swallowed and Clint did, too. His wasn't the only guilt on display today. "I never got a chance to thank you."

"Thank me?" Clint frowned.

"Yeah, for-for the Raft. You made yourself a target to protect the others." Clint caught the way Steve's eyes darted to Sam and he got what Steve was trying to say. _Thanks for keeping Sam safe when I couldn't._

Clint waved his gratitude off. He was barely better at accepting praise than when Phil first dragged him into SHIELD. "Anyone of us would have done it."

"But only you would have taken everything on yourself, bratishka."

And there was Natasha. Clint looked up at her, noticed the way Steve had his arm draped casually over her shoulder.

Clint shrugged. "I did what needed to be done, but really? Is this the time to dredge up ancient history?"

Phil cleared his throat. "I think what everyone is trying to say is that we care about you and value you, Clint. And we want you to know that. Because sometimes shit happens and we never get to say it."

"Fuck, Phil," Clint protested, his eyes prickling. "Don't you dare go all sappy on me!" He grabbed one of Wanda's hands between his, pulled her up, then everyone was hugging. It was stupid as fuck, but Clint wasn't the only one with too-shiny eyes when the group hug parted as Bobbi stepped into the room.

Bobbi was pale and drawn, her mouth curling down. Clint's heart sank.

"James is awake," she said, then gave them all a weak smile.

Clint stepped up, was about to demand to see for himself when Bobbi kept speaking her eyes going to Steve. "He is demanding that only you go, Captain Rogers," she said.

"Wha?" Clint blinked.

"Ma'am?" Steve asked, as confused as Clint was.

Bobbi hesitated. Clint watched her take a breath and straighten. "He is insisting that you test him right now."

"Test him?" Clint asked, eyes going from Bobbi to Steve when it hit him. "What? No! You can't do that!"

Steve turned pained eyes to Clint. "He trusted me with this, Clint. I have to."

"He nearly died! What the hell is wrong with everyone? Have any of you considered the fact that maybe he's too traumatized to be thinking clearly?" he shouted.

Phil and Natasha bracketed Clint, making him aware that they were going to stop him if he tried to interfere. "Phil?" he asked, turning to his friend.

"None of this would be my first choice, but it's not my choice. And it's not yours, Clint."

Clint took a step back, wrapped his arms around his torso, jaw clenching as he looked at everyone in that room. Only Steve stood straight and tall and met his eyes, his face locked in that determined Captain America pose. "Steve?"

After taking a deep breath, a little bit of Steve Rogers shown from his eyes. "I didn't want this responsibility, Clint. I didn't want anyone to have that power, but I never could out-stubborn Bucky. If this is what he wants, I owe it to him to honor it."

"And if that whole shitstorm in there didn't work?"

"We have the ability to pump in a sleeping gas," a new voice spoke up. T'Challa.

"While I understand your concerns, Agent Barton, I promised Sergeant Barnes that we would take his lead. Even in this."

"Whatever," Clint huffed. "It's just a damn good thing I didn't have anything like this around after Loki," he said, angry and hurt. "Do what you want, then. I hope it doesn't blow up in your fucking faces," he growled before bursting through the group and storming off. It was cowardly, but he was outnumbered by his best friends. Not like he was going to physically fight them over this no matter how much it stung.

The clearing was empty, the little stream burbling happily. The world kept turning even if Clint was pretty sure he was dying inside.

Clint sulked, pacing the clearing, then sitting before getting up and repeating the process over again. He'd stormed out in anger, made a fool of himself really, but what was he supposed to do? Sit by and let James be tortured just because he thought he deserved to be punished?

Clint sprawled on his back on the bench, watched the clouds scuttle across the sky. He heard Jiru approach and didn't bother to look at him. "I'm fine, Jiru. You can tell who ever called you that I'm not doing something stupid."

"Looks like you've already done something stupid, Barton."

Clint jerked upright. "James?"

"Well, don't act so surprised."

Clint gaped. "But-but…"

"But what?"

Clint swallowed. "Are you, um, all you?" Clint asked, poking a finger at his temple. "Or did you come by to tell me that you're going back under?"

"Can I sit?" James asked.

"Shit!" Clint said, scooting to one side of the bench. "Sorry." James was pale, dark circles under his eyes. He looked like he'd been on a month-long bender. If Clint was assessing him correctly, he probably felt worse than he looked.

James sat next to Clint, right shoulder brushing Clint's left. "Thanks."

"Should have offered. I can be a bit oblivious."

"More than a bit," James said, a smile in his words.

"Hey! My thing's archery, not exactly big on the whole interpersonal shit."

James snorted, then bumped Clint a bit harder. 

Clint turned to find that James was closer than he'd expected, and his eyes were a dark steel blue. "What?" he asked. And tried very hard not to stare, but James had lost weight, his jaw could cut glass and even the rough stubble on it barely softened his profile. Didn't stop Clint from wanting to touch, to scratch his fingers under James' chin, feel the roughness against his palm as his hand rested over that thrumming pulse.

"See what I mean?" James asked and Clint realized he'd been talking while Clint was daydreaming about kissing him.

"Um, sorry. I--" Clint sighed. "Why are you here?"

James licked his lips and Clint swallowed, the air suddenly growing thick and heavy with anticipation. But James couldn't be leaning forward, couldn't be thinking of kissing Clint. Could he?

But he did. It was a gentle press of lips until Clint's lips parted on a sigh and then James deepened the kiss, reached up to wrap a hand around the back of Clint's neck even as Clint was leaning in, his hands gripping James' arm while the other flexed against his thigh. He found himself dizzy and breathless when James pulled back.

"Whuh?"

James smirked. "Been wanting to do that for awhile."

"You have?"

"Figured it'd be one way to shut you up."

"Ass!" Clint grumbled with a smile, elbow poking into James' ribs, making him grunt in surprise. "But seriously, what the hell?"

"I wasn't about to start something if I didn't know my own mind."

"Do you know your own mind now?" Clint asked, butterflies filling his stomach.

Yeah," James said. "I like kissing you."

"I like that, too," Clint agreed. "But what about Steve?"

James cocked his head, meeting Clint's gaze. "Steve's my best friend and it's best that way. He expects… or hopes that I'll be his Bucky, the one he remembers."

"You are, but you're not," Clint added. "I get that."

James smirked. "Of course you do. That's one of the reasons I've been wanting to kiss you."

Clint knew he looked confused. James shook his head, pressed a kiss to the corner of Clint's mouth. "It's nice to have someone who really does get it and doesn't expect me to be anyone but who I am _now._ "

"Oh," Clint said, a little awed. "So what's next?"

James shrugged. "Not sure. I hear there's an arm in some lab and maybe an opportunity to make reparations."

"Want some help with that last thing?"

James smiled. It reached his eyes, lit up his whole face and made Clint breathless with how gorgeous he was. "This mean you're my steady?"

Clint snorted. "I'm easier than that, but if you want us to date first, I'm all in."

"Good," he said, arm wrapping around Clint.

The world kept turning, but this time Clint might have a shot at a happy ending. He'd take it.

The End

**Author's Note:**

>  **Notes:**  
>  All Wakandan names from here: [Black Panther Appendix](http://www.marvunapp.com/list/appblackpanther.htm)  
> I did read a lot about Black Panther from the comics and all of his varying arcs, but this T'Challa and his people are inspired solely from the MCU and the teeny tiny glimpse we got of them in CA:CW.  
> Russian translations by my dearest Ryo.  
> And then, of course, I have to thank my betas and cheerleaders: abigail89, hitlikehammers, and ryo. Their continual and unwavering support helped me turn this into a story that I am proud of.  
> Title is from _Polaroid_ by Imagine Dragons. This is one of my head-canon songs for Clint Barton, it's just _that_ perfect for him.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Art for WeepingNaiad's one more time gotta start all over](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8368816) by [taibhrigh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/taibhrigh/pseuds/taibhrigh)




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